


Levity

by Melissaaawr



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Gotham City - Fandom, Jack Napier - Fandom, The Joker - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melissaaawr/pseuds/Melissaaawr
Summary: Jack Napier could destroy me with one touch, and rebuild me with one word.All the Joker was capable of was pain.





	1. News

Rachel Dawes had died a year ago. Harvey Dent had perished those two days later, taking Batman with him.

Taking Batman but leaving a crumbled Bruce, shattered his soul, his body. Sometimes I feared even his mind.

I shook that familiar thought away, pushing my hair out of my face and smiling at the security guard, thanking him as he held open the door for me. “Have a nice day Miss Napier.” Shoot him a small smile, not at all surprised he had learnt my name by now, “Thanks, you too.” I knew the pleasantry didn’t reach my eyes but once the slick doors closed I didn’t care and my lips fell back.

It went far deeper than a simple frown but I stopped my jaw from jutting, fiddling with the hem of my skirt again in some weak attempt at distraction and pressed the button to the penthouse, the vibrations of the metal ricocheting through me. It was still early, and the fluorescent light was a little uncomfortable on my eyes, but I would have taken anything over the news I was travelling to deliver.

Not that my feelings about it all mattered. They shouldn't matter.

The lift stopped with a click and the doors swiftly opened. I heard the soft padding of feet before I saw the older man but my face had stopped him halfway through his question.

“You're early, is everything alright?”

“Is he here?” Alfred nodded slowly, tightening his dressing gown and stiffly moving to his employers grand room at the other end of the floor. I didn’t follow, only Alfred could ruse him enough to leave the confines of his bed, and other than the occasional stressed word over the phone I hadn’t seen him in weeks. It was a couple of minutes before they returned, Alfred rubbing his hand through his hair, Bruce through his beard.

“What is it Eleanor?” He limped over a little too close, so his breath danced over me, reeking of stale alcohol.

“Put the news on.”

Alfred did as I said wordlessly and as the sun broke over the maze of skyscrapers outside the sound flooded the large lounge area. “Master Wayne...” Bruce stopped his closest companion with a flick of the wrist, limping heavily to the pristine couch and lowering himself, letting me follow slowly after, although my stomach was twisting too much to sit.

“When?”

“Last night.” I swallowed hard, finding my mouth suddenly dry, “One of the doctors must have helped them escape, and they were all at Blackgate...even though....”

They had said one of the three was deep in the confines of the closed down Asylum, the only patient Arkham would ever have again.

That had been a lie, all of it had been lies.

Bruce carefully studied the news anchor for a few moments, rubbing a lined hand over his equally tired face. “You need to go into protective custody, out of Gotham...”

“No...” I stuttered over the word, “No I can’t. He’s not doing it for me. You know exactly who his target will be Bruce, who all of them will target...” Why was my voice lifting so high? I cleared my throat in a weak attempt to sound a little calmer.

“Maybe they’ll have sense enough to leave Gotham.” Alfred interjected, although he didn’t even seem to be convincing himself of it, “They’ll go elsewhere, lay low.” His hand rested over his mouth. We all knew he was wrong and there were a few moments of silence after I next spoke.

“All of them will target Batman.”

Bruce’s fingers curled, resting on his damaged knee. The rays of light were breaking through the wide panels of windows and I watched them illuminate the carved lines close to his eyes.

“There is no Batman anymore.”

“Bruce...”

“No.” He shoved himself up, shaking away Alfred once again. “There is no Batman to target. I will not hurt anybody else...”

“That won’t stop them doing the same.” The butler was curt.

“The authorities can handle it.”

“The authorities are based on a lie. The police still believe you killed Harvey, all those other people...” He brushed aside the argument that sprang from me.

“Jim Gordon doesn’t and he is the commissioner.”

I rolled my eyes, eyelashes still spiked together from yesterdays mascara, “And how long until they kill him? You need to stop it now.” His mouth opened, “I know they’ll try and stop you, but you can get them before they do too much damage Bruce. He’ll...The Joker especially will want to tempt you back out, and he’ll do anything to get that reaction.”

His eyes fluttered towards the picture of Rachel on the coffee table.

“How much more can they do?”

I couldn’t stop the side of my mouth lifting, “You have no idea." I swallowed hard again, "Crane has proved he has no limits...no morals, what if he still has connections with this League of Shadows...”

“There is no League of Shadows, they’re gone.” He finally turned to meet me properly with a scoff, although any tiny hint of humour vanished, “Crane needs a team, discipline, a plan.” I could see the cogs behind his eyes turning, “He needs control. The Joker...” I was glad he stopped himself, and his mouth tightened into a near invisible line, “You’ll stay here. Protected.”

The shake of my head was instinct, and my fingers were claws in my hair, “He’s broken in here before!”

“And whose fault was that?!” I stopped myself from quivering at the lift of his voice, the hoarseness flooding the words. Alfred wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“That wasn’t me.” I said lowly, although I could easily add to my list of lies. “And... I’m fine, don't worry about me. I... I just thought you should know. You’ve spent far too much time locked up in here hiding from everything! You’re Batman!” He watched me walk away, my feet stomping hard against the expensive wood flooring.

“I was Batman.”

And now the Joker was free, I was as good as dead.

Jack would see to that.  
______________  
I hid the rest of the day, slinking back to my apartment and burying myself in my bed covers. I didn’t sleep, I couldn’t, not knowing they were free. The Riddler meant nothing to me. Edward Nigma was an intelligent man who strived for a sort of psychopathic power he couldn’t manage or hold.

But I couldn’t pretend one of them didn’t terrify them. I couldn’t pretend that the very moment that changed everything was down to him. Down to me.

If Bruce refused to come back, if Batman remained hidden, at least the police would have a chance. Gordon was smart, intuitive. But he would never understand the Joker, at points in my life I thought I had but I had been wrong, so wrong.

If I left it too long the Joker would find me here. He’d storm in, with either a group of thugs and imbeciles he’d had waiting, warped minds he’d have no trouble controlling, or he’d sneak in alone and I’d find his knife deep in my roommates throat.

Luckily Liam was out. He had left for the very reason I had originally clung to him. Liam was a cop, a good man. He'd been in danger plenty of time, throughout everything that had happened with Crane's fear serum, through the Jokers' reign of terror those long months ago. If I waited here the Joker would find me and kill one of the only people I really cared about.

Maybe I deserved that, but Liam didn't. I couldn't allow it to happen.

Irony bit at me. The only reason I had ever come to be close to Liam was as a way to benefit myself. I used him for protection, and any night I spent fucking him was one I didn't have to spend in the Narrows. It was one I didn't have to spend with Jack. Some nights that was a blessing, others a curse. He knew a little, about the man my life revolved around, but not as much as Bruce. That was purposeful, I'd managed to keep him away from Jack before, made up poor excuses for bruises.

The best way to keep Liam safe was to never see him again. To pray he didn't try and look for me.

I forced myself out of bed and into the shower, turning the water up as hot as it went. I had been living in Liam's apartment for just over a year. The most settled I had ever been. It had been foolish to believe that once the Joker had been locked away that I was free. Once the mob had become involved I had taken my escape, still amazed that it had worked, that the Joker seemed to have set me somewhat free. As ever I had been wrong, but throughout his reign of terror I had only seen Jack a few times, never at the apartment but never by my choice.

He knew where I lived, I had no doubt about that. So why was I stalling? After my shower I spent too long slathering on make-up and perfecting my hair. Was it worth packing and making a run for it? Leaving Gotham? I had nowhere to go, I had no-one else.

My only option was to find him before he found me. To beg for my friends life and accept whatever repercussions came my way.

If I met him, made the move, show him that I wasn’t hiding, I wasn’t scared. He could have me, and nobody else. If he killed me, that may be enough, he’d finally have that bit of revenge he’d longed for for years. A part of me wanted him too. To end the twisted game that had dictated the last fifteen years of my life, the absolute best and worst moments of my memory.

The worst parts belonged to everyone who had witnessed them. But the good parts were mine. In some twisted way he would always be mine. Even if that beauty was just a distant memory marred by everything since. Marred by decisions I had made, things that had come into play and broken us both.

If he was mine. Then I was entirely his.

That could never be in question.

I was as fucking sick in the head as any of his little goons.


	2. Narrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor goes looking

When the Joker was Jack I was utterly, ridiculously in love with him.

When he did become the clown, when the change happened before my eyes, a caterpillar whose cocoon had rotted, I became more scared, wary. Did I stop loving him? I wasn’t sure, I hadn’t seen him in a year since Bruce had ended his monstrous acts. Of course the times I had seen him were different, short intervals of terror and that disgusting sense of joy.

None by choice, but I had gotten glimmers of information he’d let slip, seen how his seemingly chaotic series of events were carefully planned.

Of course they had been, everything Jack had ever done was planned, looked at from every possible angle. He’d debated and outlined every moment. My only plan at his point consisted of taking this cab to the Narrows and walking around until I was found.

My breath was visible in front of me, the way you pretend to be smoking as children, the night unusually cool. Maybe it was just the area, the Narrows, one derelict neighbourhood after another, had always seemed cold, damp. I tested the small pistol in my pocket gently, running fingertips over the cool metal as I shifted in my seat, the leather peeling beneath me.

I didn’t plan on using it. I hadn’t used a gun in years but Liam insisted on having one in the apartment, kept in a safe box under my bed. I understood why, he was a couple of years older than I was, far closer to thirty than twenty anymore. He was a cop, he’d dealt with everything with the mob, he’d been there, one of the hundreds trying to hunt down the Joker.

I’d withheld information that could have helped him whilst in the same breath I’d told him things I knew, places I thought Jack may be. I’d helped to a degree, and hindered even more so.

It was no wonder Bruce had ever brought my loyalty into question. The only reason I had gotten a position at Wayne enterprises, had started as a receptionist five years ago was to see what we could steal, to see what Jack could make off with.

I was glad for the accession, a world outside of the Narrows and the dingy flats and abandoned outlets we squatted in. It was a low position but somehow I proved myself, moved up slowly. The further up I went, the further away from Jack I felt.

That was when the worst arguments started, when Jack’s scheme became ever more dangerous, when the few original little sidekicks he’d held for years had started to drift away... mostly into their graves.

Not that the black waters of the old harbour really counted as a grave.

But Jack wouldn’t let me go. He never would. And I was sick in the way I didn’t want him too, not completely. Not Jack, the Jack I’d grown up adoring and continued to. There was less Jack now then there had ever been, his persona had overtaken him.

Jack was all but dead. The Joker remained.

Still I suppose I clung onto the hope that the boy I’d first met still lingered in some way. Other times I looked deeper into signs, delved into memories. There had always been that chaotic, manic element there, my feelings and want had overlooked it until it was just too overpowering.

I had to find him. I had to know, even if the thought of seeing him made my tongue swell and dread bubble in my gut. I let my fingers claw against each other in my lap, picking at my nails and the skin surrounding them until several bled. “Far as I wanna go sweet’art.” I dragged my eyes away and nodded, not even bothering to plaster on a smile. “That’s great, thank you.”

“Sure you’ll be alright? It’s getting late...” I shook away the cab drivers fears, pressing more money than he deserved into his hands and clambering from the rusting vehicle. I’d asked him to bring me to the Narrows, sense had made him stop across the short bridge, if he went much further there was a chance he’d be mugged. Our lovely mayor was still in the midst of using the ‘Harvey Dent Act’ to clean up the streets, and he was leaving the maze of dark alleyways until last, but I knew he’d never get it clean, far too much scum and dirt remained here.

I had no idea where the Joker would be skulking, but I knew sooner or later I'd find him or vice versa. I would head to places that meant something, places where deals had been done.

Everything bad we did.

It had to be close to an hour later when I realised someone was following me. Not Jack, I could tell by the steps, too heavy, too slow. I gripped the gun again slowly, dragging it from my pocket. I hesitated just a second too long, giving the hand time to wrap around my wrist and tightening so I hissed, the pistol clattering to the ground. Why did I hesitate? I shouldn’t have, I never had beforehand, but it had been so long, I was too used to walking down decently lit streets, too used now to not having to watch my back.

I shouldn’t have hesitated. That had been a big mistake, my next attempt at exuding a confidence I had never held was another. “Not too subtle, are you?” I scoff, although his fingers become a vice around the thin peak of my arm and I wince, “Get off of me.” I didn’t lift my voice, keeping it as calm and collected as possible. The man, short but thick, paid me no attention and dragged me several steps down the alleyway, towards the thin crossroads that led to several abandoned factories.

I tried to place his face, crooked teeth a sign he was poor, likely from the Narrows itself. No money meant no braces, no healthcare. Several small scars shone when the moonlight met them, but I had no idea who he was.

“I can walk you know. I came to find him I’m not going to run off.” I tried to retract my arm again and a flame flickered over my shoulder as he yanked me forward, my foot catching so a knee scraped over the cement. “Shut up.” His voice was slow, a little struggle between each word.

“I’m telling you. He’s going to be mad you’ve hurt me.” This made him hesitate a moment, “You’ve seen him angry right? Unless you fancy one of those Brooklyn smiles he’s fam-“

This time my back met the wall, and I felt the rough surface bite through my clothing, “Smile?” The man’s breath was off, tainted with a hint of old greasy food and alcohol. “Who do you think I’m taking you too?” He grinned at me and any sense of bravado dropped.

“I...” I tried feebly to get away again, but now that my fear was evident I knew there was no chance of that. “Who? Who are you working for? No, please don't...” There was no stopping the lift in my voice now, the slight quaver. There were a number of people I’d done things to in the past, or people that were aware of my connection to the Joker and could want me, now that he was out.

We reached the crossroads but he didn’t continue towards the familiar factories, he took the left pathway, further into the rows of houses, where the damp smell never lifted. Jack wouldn’t be that way, not now. He’d crossed too many people in that neighbourhood.

I panicked, still not sure what I was scared of, but feeling the fear pulse through me in overwhelming tides. I struck at him, finally snapping the chord that had allowed him so far to be calm. The arm still wrapped around me swung me again against the wall, “I swear to god you little bitch...” The other made spots appear in my vision before pressing against my neck.

The spots were overtaking everything when it finally stopped, lungs aching, head spinning, I slumped down a little bit. The hand released me with a grunt, a weak beg, and finally a whimper before there was silence.

Someone grabbed the top of my shoulder, pulling me upright as I continued to gasp for air, rubbing across my neck as the ringing in my ears faded slowly. I let out a weak cough as I found we were in a far more familiar place, the gloom of the factories ahead of us. I finally could see clearly enough to try and examine my saviour, my first thought was Bruce, but the man was a little too short, stooped a tiny bit.

He was wearing an oversized hoody, a darker colour than my own, but still with the hood drawn up to shroud him. I didn’t need to see his face to recognise him, not in that moment when his hand grabbed for me again, harder this time, nails digging into my palm.

I recognised him by the scars that lined his knuckles. I knew how so many of them trailed up to his wrist, the ones on his forearms, pin pricks in his inner elbows when the temptation had become too much. So many scars littered him, and I could remember the incidents in many cases, every detail.

He didn’t speak to me, just led me forward towards the factories again, a slight limp in his steps.

He was subdued, not excited, not worked up. He was injured and lethargic; or furious, not mad in the way that he needed something to do, someone to torture. Furious in the way that he delved deep into himself before he exploded. Those explosions explained many of my own scars.

None were as significant as his, the two deep gnarled lines that defined him to most I finally saw as we passed a lone streetlight and his jaw became illuminated.

Those are the scars I remember the most. I could never forget them.

They were there because of me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Past**

“Does it matter what it is?” I glanced up at him, a thin layer of sweat still grazing his tanned features. I pouted as I turned, pushing my upper body to meet his, letting the cover fall and expose me. “Well, then what does it do?”

“It’s a narcotic, relaxes you, supposed to make you hallucinate a little, like you’re dreaming.”

I rolled my eyes, “And how much are you selling it for?”

“I’m shipping it out for Lorenzo for a decent amount...” He grinned quickly, the dimples in both cheeks digging deep. “And of course, there’s the extras he doesn’t know about...” I felt that familiar flurry of worry in my stomach and tried to push past it, fiddling with the edge of the thin sheet as he continued to ramble about his latest scheme to con as much money from the dangerous drug baron as possible.  
“If he finds out Ja-“ His palm rested a little too hard over my mouth, muffling his name as he shushed me. I waited until he retracted it, “Jack, seriously...” The next push was harder, at the nape of my neck so my back met the pillow, my skull hitting off the headboard. I bit back my exclamation of pain, watching him roll his eyes as his fingers drummed over my lips.

"You talk too much.” His hand travelled quickly down to my bruised breast, grabbing it roughly as he dipped to bring his lips against mine, the kiss so ferocious that when he pulled away my chest was stinging and I was breathless. I admired the way his cheeks flushed a light pink, but he wasn’t looking at me, instead, he was staring at the wall, thinking, the crease between his brows appearing.

“Enough.” He blurted randomly a good thirty seconds later, “Enough that we can properly...” He gestured to the dingy room around us, the mold an almost beautiful pattern of grey and green in one corner. “I hate this fucking apartment. We need to start going somewhere else.” I nodded although I didn’t agree, it wasn’t ours, of course not but it was in a half nice building, and we hadn’t had any trouble staying up here the odd day...or week rather. But, any hint that he wanted to form some true sort of a home with me was enough to let him drag me into every shit hole in the Narrows.

“Just... be careful with stuff, kay?” He scoffed, finally twisting back to me, eyes scanning over my lightly bruised torso in a way that made me self-conscious. I went to tug up the sheet but he tore it down, “You should be worried about yourself. Not me.” He pressed down hard on a particularly dark spot on my bicep.

“You’re the one getting mixed up in all of this, ripping off the dealers is going to get back to them...” I cut him off before he could argue, “And I know you’re smart, I’m not denying that, but if they find out you want to mess about with it and make money on the side they are going to be...” He stopped me this time not with a kiss but by slamming his hand hard close to my temple against the cheap wood. I jumped with a shriek but his nimble fingers were already tangled in my knotted hair. He let them slowly drag through, catching every painful knot, “We’re good. Good, good, good, good.” His voice grew to a speedy ramble, and without realising, eyes again not on my face, his tugging grew more vicious. I knew that look, the odd faraway stare that turned in a split second, the calm before the storm.

I kept my mouth shut until he blinked back into reality, his voice had dropped any sense of playfulness but he moved his hand to stroke down my cheek, wiping away the pathetic tear that had shed at the aching upon my scalp. “You want some or not Elle?”

I bit my lip, eyeing the small bottle of liquid and nodding.

Anything to make him happy.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Present**

The room was dark, damp, hidden in the maze of streets that created the Narrows. I hated the place, it was where the true scum of Gotham lived, they crept in the shadows, lurked in every black inky corner. It was where I had grown up in a horrible damp flat with my mother and whatever man she was fucking that week.

It was where I had met him.

Where the Joker had been created and Jack had been destroyed.

My mouth was dry, neck still burning as I watched the various goons walk about unmasked. Some I recognised but many I didn’t. There had been a larger breakout from Blackgate than they had originally said, the news had focused on the big three names, but many others had slipped away that night as well. A few of them were here, judging from the pile of orange prison jumpsuits in one corner of the basement, underneath the metal steps.

My hands were held by duct tape on my lap, skin tugging and stinging whenever I tried to move them, my bare feet rested on the cold scuffed floor, the underneaths black. I had landed a kick when Jack had tossed me to a couple of the others so had lost the privilege of shoes. Not that they were far, sitting beside me on the low old table.

My second attempt not to react had been just as swiftly been ruined when I had felt a strangers hand begin to slip up my thigh. That man lay on the floor now, his movement not missing Jack’s sharp eyes.

The blood had begun to seep from the hole in his neck instantly, the puddle finally stopping just inches from my feet, dark red nail varnish on my toenails echoing it. I hated how little it bothered me, the act had been quick, slick as Jack was with a knife. I wasn’t sorry for him, the man. I had no idea who he was, what he had done to get himself into prison. I didn’t care about him. I cared about the person shut away in what must have been the floor managers office.

That, more than anything now I was here worried me most.

Why had Jack brought me here just to leave me? That wasn’t like him, not ever had he wanted to share anything he felt he owned, myself included. Since we’d arrived I hadn’t seen him and hours must have passed from the rotation of men standing close to me. I had no way of knowing if they knew who I was, or even why I was here. Jack just had that power to attract people who would do exactly as he pleased, who would dote on his every word. Often I supposed I had been one of them...was one of them. My chest tightened and I shifted gently to ease the ache in my buttocks, but the loud creaking of the table just attracted more stares. Some were blank, had no idea who I was, why I was sitting here like a bruised statue.

I looked down timidly, staring at the scuffs on the table edge. When I was feeling braver I would let my eyes scour across the warehouse.

One I knew far too well. It was hard to avoid eye contact and as more time stretched past I could sense him debating coming over. It wouldn’t end well. “Can I have some water or something?” I half whispered, a little afraid to lift my voice much above that level, the man closest, leaning against the edge of the rusted metal frowned deeply, other than watching me they clearly had no set instruction.

I didn’t doubt they would follow each syllable from Jack as law.

He seemed to think it over for a while, before rubbing his damp palms over his dirty jeans and vanishing into the office. I could hear the low murmur of voices before there was one sudden loud shout and he practically scampered out, hands hooking around my bound wrists and dragging me in, the door slamming closed as he took his escape. At least that one was half smart, he knew better than to push Jack when he showed any hint of anger, another couple of seconds and there would likely have been two corpses on the ground.

“You’re thirsty.” It wasn’t a question but I still answered with a hesitant yes. The oversized hoody had been thrown aside to reveal a loose white shirt, again too large for him and dark trousers. His hair was still blonde, they clearly hadn’t gotten their hands on any dye yet and at this stage that would be far too obvious a move. I knew from seeing his jaw that his face was also bare but I wasn’t sure how promising that was. He hated people he kept around as goons seeing him without everything on, without the look that people feared, that was now iconic.

It was either a smart hesitancy in obtaining those things or this was purposeful. I was thinking too far into things and was drifting into space, jumping back into reality with a start as he slid a knife between my wrists and freed them. “Duct tape?” He was murmuring to himself again but I stood dead still as he peeled it, not roughly but certainly not softly from my skin, leaving it a tingling pink.

He strolled off again, although the slight limp was slowing him down. I took the opportunity to look around the office, it was small of course, slightly better lighting although the lamp was covered in a thick layer of dust. The rest of the room was much the same, there were what looked like maps, some sort of construction crew on one side but the desk itself was meticulously laid out, the only way he could bear having it.

He vanished through a side door and returned within a few seconds, dingy glass filled with water. I let him press it into my hand. There was a time when most of my belongings were in a similar state and I was so thirsty it only took a moment before I was gulping it down, the water tricking out of either side of my mouth. He noticed, staring at me almost inquisitively a few feet away, he gestured for the cup once I was done in that odd jerky way and accepted it, slamming it down on the desk so hard it cracked and broke into several pieces. I tried to ignore the slices that appeared on his fingers, “Ja-“

“So,” he lifted his hand up, the blood starting to fill the cuts and gather, wiping it nonchalantly on his shirt, the smear almost the same shape as his smile had been that night. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

His voice is level, smooth, almost a purr.

I’m in trouble.


	4. Warehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a few questions for Eleanor. He is also keeping odd company  
> Flashback

“What?”

He whistles a short tune, four notes. It’s like a comic book character, the smoke about to blare from their ears. The calm before the storm. I blurt a weak answer, “Working.”

“With Bruce Wayne?” My teeth break the thin skin on my lower lip but I nod, although he is only half looking at me, peering from under his lashes. “Same thing you asked me to do before.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” His words slur into one, “I don’t remember ever asking you to work for Batman.” I open and close my mouth, mute. Finally, I have his full gaze, dark brown, boring into me. I want to fidget, I feel so bare and uncomfortable with him glaring so hard. I don’t, I hold myself perfectly still; I know far better than that and keep myself where I’ve been placed. Jack is purely in predatory mode and he’s scoping me out, waiting for me to flinch when his rough hands drag across my thighs; when he grabs my arms and runs his thumbs over the scars that name me for the addict I was. He moves me to edge of the desk, pushing me so I’m perching uncomfortably.

He ends up staring me dead in the face. This is the hardest part because without the make-up, and even with the knotted scars in his cheek he is still the Jack I met when I was twelve years old. He is my Jack. Even I know that thought is a lie, he’s never been mine, not in the slightest. I can’t stare him out and I drop my eyes, letting him win.

Minutes after he makes the statement I answer, struggling to keep my voice steady. “No, you didn’t. But you didn’t complain once we worked out who Bruce was.” He considers this for a moment, head tilted and his features, even so gnarled are pleasant, gentle. Before I can finish my head is flung to one side and the stinging in my cheek erupts, a tiny gasp the only noise I allow myself to make. Just as swiftly his fingers dance over the reddening skin and I swallow the small amount of blood pooling in my mouth.

“I hate it when you answer back.”

“S…sorry.” I can feel the blood from the small cuts on his fingers drying in smears close to my eye. His lips twitch in one corner, as close to an actual smile as I’ve known in a good few years. “What’s he doing?”

I stupidly almost ask who but manage to stop myself. I can’t tell him that Bruce has been moping for a year, that he’s utterly destroyed physically and mentally and he’s a shell of who he was. I swallow more blood, the stinging in my face is now a dull ache and I can feel some prickling close to my eye. “He’s been training I think…I haven’t seen him in ages. I barely do anyway I just sort out some meetings and…” I can’t tell if he believes me but he doesn’t give me any sign otherwise and turns away, grabbing one of the maps from beside me.

I vanish from his mind, no longer important or relevant. Whatever those maps show consume him completely. He nudges me off the desk after a while, gesturing half-heartedly to the other chair in a corner and without argument I sit on it. After more time passes the pain in my cheek lessens and of all things, anyone else would be terrified being held by the Joker, I start to feel tired and before too long I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. It must be the middle of the night by now and in-between dozes I can hear Jack tapping that familiar rhythm to himself and the men in the warehouse moving around.

Sometimes someone dares to come in.

Several times that happens to be Wade. It looks like he’s second in command again, as he was used to. I made sure to appear asleep whenever I saw his silhouette against the glass panelling or heard that familiar baritone. I had no idea where Wade had spent most of the last year, he hadn't been in prison- I knew that much. I’d seen him twice, scrambling through the crowds of the early commute. I wasn't sure at the time if he'd moved on or if he was following me. I suppose I had my answer now he was once again at Jack's side.

I’d met him one final time, not far from my apartment a few months back. Jack didn’t know about that, if he did Wade would be rotting somewhere and I doubted I’d still have the capacity to walk. “He’s here.” Wade said simply, and I felt eyes scour over me. Jack sighed, and although I kept my face still I could tell his agitation had ruined whatever he had been working on. Paper was crumpled and bounced onto the cement ground. Jack clicked his tongue and heavy steps came towards me, giving me just enough time to ‘naturally’ wake as large hands looped around my wrists. “Where shall I put her?” Wade asked simply, practically ignoring my presence.

Jack muttered something lowly, scrambling through drawers and clutching white, slipping the ghastly plastic mask over his face just in time. There was a knock and without an answer the door swung open.

My stomach flipped. Any sense of tiredness was eradicated and my whole body was buzzing. Wade sensed I was about to make a very big mistake and started to half drag me from the room, leaving a couple of feet between us and the tall man who had just entered. It wasn’t enough and an arm slid, splitting us and forming a barricade in the door way. “I wasn’t aware she was a part of your deal.” A brow rose and I twisted as far from him as Wade’s hands would let me, shielding my face with my hair. “In fact I’d assumed you would have long done away with her now.”

“Funny.” Jack…The Joker replied, voice muffled by the mask. There wasn’t a hint of anything in his deadpan words and the arm slid above my head as the man entered the room. Wade kept pulling me away, out of the warehouse, up the few dingy steps and out into the chill of the night. I could barely feel the cold, too numb with shock and a bubbling sense of horror. He continued to tug me, swearing at my resistance but seeming to care little about the pebbles and fragments of glass catching my feet. He kept checking around us, tugging keys from his pocket as we approached a van and opening the back doors, wrenching me in so I spilled against the metal. He glanced around again, clambering in himself and closing the doors behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His words were meaningless and I ignored them.

“Is he working with Crane?” That was all I could think, could see. Dragging myself so I was seated, leaning against the side it just didn’t seem real. But then there he was, Crane had just strolled in, decked in a top quality suit. He’d remembered me, worse he’d mentioned me and Jack had just stood there, taken it. How could he possibly be working with Crane? Crane was the reason. No, the juddering thought shook through me, I was the reason his face had been torn apart, Crane was the catalyst but I was the cause.

“Eleanor.” Wade was in front of me now, not dissimilar to how Jack had been what felt like a lifetime ago. “Wade.” I managed back, trying to keep my voice cold. “Why is he working with Crane?” He rolled his eyes at me and the small motion flicked some sort of switch although of course he caught my hand before it was anywhere near his face.

“Aren’t you already bruised enough tonight?” His voice had lost that edge and with his free hand he held my chin and turned my face so he could look at the lifting bruises. “It’s not too bad.” A nail scratched a little at the dried blood. His hand falls and rests on his knee, “What did you do to deserve that?”

There’s a stretched moment where we both take in the ridiculousness of his question. Then, like two lunatics dedicated to an utter madman we laugh.

 

**Past**

He never went by Jack Napier, not even the very first time I met him would he use that name. It was tarnished to him, the surname of his father who he refused to speak of. He didn’t have to, the neighbourhood we grew up in was quite secluded, trapped between stocking warehouses and what we all referred to as the ‘slums’. They were the worst part of the Narrows without a doubt, and with the rise in expenses for basic necessities and the plummet of the economy we survived on state hand outs and whatever money could be made.

Most of the time this money was earned illegally. Police raids and visits were common and practically every evening some would appear to try and settle disputes; to try and stop the brothels and small gangs that formed easily. There was something always happening, some danger and as much as you tried to avoid it there was always a way to be pulled in.

Jack had been my way in. He had approached me.

I always clung to that point, he could say what he liked and I could hate myself for my clinginess, for my incessant need for him but he had started all of it. He had walked over to me and he had sat on the crumbling wall beside me. He’d made some stupid comment I couldn’t remember and I’d held my tongue because he already had some sort of reputation and I had enough trouble at home as it was.

That was the era of Dale, he’d married my mother recently and when I first met Jack my neck was coated in fading purple.

Jack wanted me to move drugs for him, that was the general aim of his conversation, his need of me. I wanted to disagree but I didn’t dare and pathetically I was a little bit honoured he’d chosen me for the task. He was nice to me, and older and most importantly of all he walked me up the stained stairway to my floor of the apartment building afterwards. “Here.” He flicked through the wad of cash he had just earned and pulled out several notes. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“Sure.” I breathed, this was the most money I had held in my short life. “Whatever you need.” He grinned widely at me, although at this point my head would barely have scraped across his chin.

“Good to know.” He started to leave, and I tucked the money down the jeans. I would have to hide it well, if Dale knew I had a couple of hundred dollars they’d be gone without question.

“Oh,” Jack stopped just before the smashed doorway, “Let me know if he touches you again.” His face was dark and I found myself nodding mutely, a little scared of the intensity in his eyes. “See you around Kid.”

He hadn’t asked my name.


	5. Wade

Light was starting to filter in from the front of the van and we were lit dimly. I was still clutching the slightly damp rag in one hand, my face stiff. Wade had helped me clean off the blood but it was too late for the cold water to have much effect on the swelling. “How long do you need to keep me out of the way?”

He shrugged with a yawn. He was being quiet, unusual for him with his big old motor mouth. Especially since we were alone and far from Jack, well as far from Jack as I seemed to be allowed.

“Why...why are you here Wade? Why did you come back?”

“Come back?” This time he snorts, and twists to stare at me again. “Where do you think I could have gone Elle?” I almost flinch at the use of my nickname, it’s practically forbidden and I see us both recall the last time he’d called me it. He runs his hand over his jawline as if to wipe the memory, and the act, away. “I helped him get out.”

I feel my brow furrow, “I didn’t realise you were that loyal.” It sounds like an insult, and maybe to a degree it is. Wade was Jack’s closest ally, I got that. I couldn’t help but get that and somehow Wade had been the one to survive his turn and everything since fairly unscathed. He would have been a criminal anyway, he was a criminal anyway but Wade has this edge, this sense about him.

He wasn’t a bad man, he was a murderer, a thief, but he wasn’t a bad man. I know I had to be insane to think that. “You helped Nigma and Crane get out as well?” The words drip with venom.

“That wasn’t the original plan.” He admitted, shuffling slightly. I was uncomfortable too, my knees almost felt stuck so I pushed myself up stiffly and staggered around the small space. When I next speak I have my back purposefully to him. “Why?” There’s an early morning taste in my mouth now and my tongue feels a little fuzzy. When Wade doesn’t answer I spin regretfully, knowing my question is all but treason. “Why didn’t you just leave him in there?”

“Why did you decide to come and hunt him down?”

Wade is one of the only people I am used to be completely honest with, “I wish I knew.” He’s about to reply, and from the look on his face I know it’s news I don’t want to hear but he’s cut off when the cheap phone in his pocket vibrates loudly. He sighs but pulls it out, quickly checking the name before flipping it open.

I can hear a murmur but the words are indistinguishable and I tense my jaw, trying to decipher the looks flickering over Wade’s face. “Alright, yup.” He answers every few seconds before clicking the device shut. “Come on.”

“Come on what?” He rolls his eyes, leaning to place his arm around me.

“Come on let’s get you home.” I can’t even question him in time, again my mind is a flurry of possibilities. One stands out more than anything, especially with a mention of home. “Whose home? My home? My apartment?”

“No shit.” We don’t use the van, Wade flicks up the hood on his jacket and double checks my face again. No-one will question a black eye around here, but there’s still that fear of me being recognised so Wade, arm still around my shoulder, purposely points me away from any stragglers making their way home after a long night. There were plenty of women with tears in their eyes to match mine. I hated the Narrows with a passion. “No-one’s hurt Liam have they?”

He blows air harshly from his mouth, “As far as I’m aware Jac-“ He corrects himself automatically, “J doesn’t know about your little police-boy…”

“He’s not…”

“Keep it that way. You need to distance yourself from-“

“You think I don’t know that?” I spit, trying and failing to separate myself from him. “I have spent the last year trying…”

“Trying to what?” He manoeuvres us into a deep doorway. “No seriously Eleanor, what have you been trying so hard to do?” I’m not given any chance to reply, “Not move on surely. If you were trying to move on you wouldn’t have spent the year up Bruce Wayne’s ass. You wouldn’t still be living in Gotham. So don’t give me that utter shit that you’ve been trying to separate yourself from this, from us.” I don’t even try to defend myself, I just feel my eyes fill with spiteful tears, my body aching with tiredness, my still bare feet sore. “You’ve been waiting for him. Don’t fucking deny it!”

His voice had grown harder throughout his reprimand, and each single syllable was fair. I could never fight what he was saying because it was true. Utterly and completely true, my life was warped around a killer who hated me. We were all killers. There was a pause, it could have been before an apology which was a stature of Wade’s personality. It could have been more cruel words but I wasn’t going to wait for them and I kicked hard at the one place I knew I would hurt enough for him to let me go and as he doubled over I took my chance, weaving under his arm and out onto the alley. My feet were screaming and a mixture of the pain and the fear of causing a scene and drawing attention kept me walking so that within a few minutes Wade caught up with me; he kept his distance.

“What’s your plan now then?”

“Go away.”

“Oh sweetheart that hurts.” He rested his hand over his broad chest. Typically his sarcasm and wit was something I enjoyed but now I wanted nothing more than to shut his mouth in any way necessary. “Just leave me alone Wade.”

He acts as if I haven’t spoken, “So your plan is to what? Walk home barefoot half way across Gotham? That’s not the best plan I’ve ever heard, especially not if you intend on having any feet left. Although I’ guess if you leave now you should get to work on time.” I waved him away, struggling for some comeback and failing, my plan was little more than that.

“I’m fine thank you.” He smirked at my gritted teeth, drawing up closer to me. “Seriously Wade, go back to Jack.”

“Yeah, cause it will go down so well if I go back and tell him I just let you wander off.”

“Don’t tell him then.” We both know that’s not an option.

I draw to a stop at the edge of a road. I know full well I can’t really stroll the three odd miles home barefoot. Physically I could, although I’m sure I’ll need a trip to the hospital to remove whatever has wedged itself in the sole of my foot. But there’s too many chances of something happening now. I realise there’s no option but defeat.

“I need you to take me…”

“Home?” Wade perks up.

“That depends if home is safe. Maybe I should just leave Gotham…”

“Your apartment is fine. Your little buddy is fine, for now, I’ve told you.” He doesn’t mention my second sentence. We both know Jack would never allow it, or that he’d likely hunt me anyway. That could be best, it may anger him enough to just end it, end me. I doubted it would be quick, he had years of outrage and anger. The temptation has flared up multiple times throughout the last decade but I’ve never been able to go through with it. I was too much of a coward. I dig my nails deep into my dirty palms to keep me focused, “Just take me home Wade.”

He does and other than on the news I hear or see nothing of Wade or Jack for several days. They're nervous all over the city; several days free of Blackgate and the Joker has done nothing. Crane either, for that matter. The only hint of any of them were Nigma's riddles in his old workplace.

On the fifth day, I’m packing. Liam hasn’t brought any of the lies I’ve spouted and has been watching me like a hawk between his patrol shifts. Several small scale robberies and attacks were keeping him busy however and I was taking the opportunity. If I stayed here he was going to get hurt. That was a fact and it was not something I could stand to happen. I was wrong in so many ways but I refused to let him suffer.

It wasn’t like I had gathered much in the way of important possessions. I had loads of work clothes I had barely worn and I would be leaving them. I’d called Bruce the day after Wade left me at home with some excuse, apologised and assured him I was safe, that I was leaving Gotham to stay with imaginary family members. He seemed concerned but I’d handed my notice in further down the line of command and I was officially jobless. Free to mope around whilst my insides twisted with anxiety. I’d had enough of it and for once in my life I was following someone’s advice.

The fact that neither Jack nor Wade truly believed I was strong enough to leave could work in my favour.

I was going to New York, it wasn’t massively far away but it was another place for me to disappear. I’d get a good enough reference from Wayne Enterprises for some low ranking job somewhere. I hoped it would be far enough away for Jack just to leave me. I doubted it and a part of me knew it was a futile attempt. That dark part of me stung hard, taunting.

Without Jack I was nothing, had nothing; I was a shell, less than a shell.

I kept myself going though. I left a note for Liam, the number of a barely working mobile phone brought from a corner shop and I slipped on my jacket and backpack. I knew fair well that there was an undercover police office downstairs courtesy of Liam’s rightful paranoia. They weren’t hard to lose and within minutes I was dawdling at a bus stop, my deep inner pocket full of notes. I didn’t think anyone but Bruce would have the ability to track my card usage but I was being careful and had gotten a ridiculous amount of money out of the cash machine a couple of days ago to avoid leaving a trail for as long as possible.

Proud of myself I stepped back to allow an old woman on the bus ahead of me. I was certain I was being watched, from one side at least but I planned to get off the bus destined for the airport far earlier and instead slip onto another, maybe even changing more if I felt especially paranoid and heading to the smaller train station. All in all I was feeling pretty good when of course it had to go wrong.

Nothing happened to me directly but as the doors opened I saw the strained look on the drivers face, the sweat beading on his forehead. Then I saw the bag resting within his reach. Simple, a dufflebag with an odd little scribble on it in marker pen.

I should have yelled the instant I realised the bag held a bomb. I didn’t, I froze, I fell inside myself and let others mutter as they pushed past me and onto what would soon be a fireball.

“Miss?” It was the bus driver, or whoever was currently playing that role. He saw my eyes linger on the bag and allowed himself a small, albeit stressed smile. “We all have our parts to play.” Too late, as the doors were closing my mind and body finally clicked and I let out a yell.

The yell was smothered instantly by a hand.


	6. Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter from Wade's POV

Wade had known Eleanor as long as he had Jack.  
Back when Jack was actually Jack. Practically a life-time ago, it sure felt like a lifetime ago.

How old had he been, twenty, twenty-one? He wasn't even sure, he'd just gotten out of jail for some shit robbery charge and was looking for something more stable when he'd come across a deal just too good to pass up. It was delivery basically, help out some low-level bozo and pocket a tidy sum. At that point in his life Wade didn't care what he gave or did to anyone; just so long as he was paid.

He met Jack, who often went by J at this point, in a three storey car park just over the border of New Town. It was nothing unusual, at least not for a drug handover. This Jack himself didn't seem that odd, just pushing six foot, conventionally attractive- which had no doubt helped him reach the minor leagues so quickly. He was Wades' age, if not younger. The only strange thing about the pick up was the product itself, it was liquid, injectable- but not heroin. That first day Wade had no fucking idea what it was or what it was supposed to do; it was practically a brand new narcotic. He was smart enough not to ask for the source.

"You ever give it a try?" He'd kept his voice gruff that evening, kept his straight face and his game on. He had a reputation to uphold; and he had to make sure this guy knew what to expect. They were both leant against one of the cars, watching several others load up the boxes disguised as some odd looking saucers. "Me?" Wade let his eyes drag over his new business partner again; well, really he supposed the man next to him was his boss. At least while the higher ups were happy. That was why Wade never offered to take on too much responsibility - he was trying to avoid the literal firing line as much as possible. He moved from job to job whilst they were going well.

It was how he kept himself alive. He'd seen plenty of others make stupid mistakes.

"I don't touch any of that stuff." Jack broke the silence eventually, his hand pushing the blonde from his face, a grin overcame him suddenly, "I got a quality checker though." The smile vanished as quickly as it had formed, "When she's up for it, that is." Wade was trying to make sense of his words when Jack pushed himself off the bonnet and called to the small group of men, "You done? Take it to the usual place."

The other van left, taking with it the superior bodies of the operation. Again Jack smiled, "Here, lemme have one." One of the other men, smaller and rat-like tore the tape from the top of a box and pulled out a tiny glass jar; the liquid was almost clear. He tossed it and Jack caught it easily, tapping the glass twice with a finger nail. "This'll do her." He muttered almost to him, Wade wasn't sure if that line had been for his ears.

"Right." He drew level with his newest 'boss'. "Where's the usual place then and when do you want me?"

"You got a place to stay?" Wade had debated lying. Looking back that simple question, seemingly earnest, had been such a massive turning point in his life it was almost unbelievable. Wade had told him the truth, Jack had offered him a couch.

The rest was history, albeit a warped, fucked up one.


	7. Home

I was halfway around the corner; fully aware it wasn’t worth struggling when the charred cards started to rain over the street. I barely heard the screams, my ears were ringing as my chest tightened and although Wade wasn’t at all rough I could feel the panic overtaking me.

“Goddamn it Eleanor, move.” He hissed, slinging his arm over my shoulders as he manoeuvred us further from the crime scene.

This was Jack’s big return. His way of making it clear to Gotham that he was back with a vengeance.

“Only fucking you would try to get on the bloody bus…” It wasn’t hard to tune him out with the roar still crashing against my skull. Police cars flash past and after a few minutes Wade flagged down a rare cab, shooting me a look I’m sure was supposed to be concerned as he slid in and pulled me with him. He didn’t seem worried that I was about to run; I should have used his considerably low opinion of me to my advantage. I could shove open the door and try and vanish in the growing crowd of horrified Gothamites, but then where would I go? They would cancel all transport out of the city now, there will be worries about bombs everywhere.

There probably was.

I risk a glance at Wade, his gaze is steely and hard on the back of the headrest behind the driver. My mouth is so dry it aches when I speak, keeping my voice quiet; “How many?” His eyes dart back and forth to the driver several times; he isn’t paying much attention to us, he has the radio on loud, reports of the attack being read in an overexcited voice. Wade answers just before the presenter announces the second bomb.

“Five.”

I feel my lips form the word again. How many people could fit on one of those coaches? Thirty, Fourty?

At least one hundred and fifty people dead, by far the most Jack had ever killed, had died by his hand. The ferry was a little stunt, to see who would turn and kill who – he’d been failed by people and their true internal sense of good.

A sense I feared we were all lacking.

“Five suicide bombers?” I’m surprised he hears me, but in response he shoots me a hard nod, enveloping my shaking hand with his. “Big man is back in town. People wanna impress.”

“By dying?” The ridiculousness of it all is dumbfounding. His clutch on my hand tightens, “Who is that to impress? That’s just fucking lunacy.” He shushes me carefully, and I catch the driver glancing at me in the rear view mirror. I bite my lip hard, the pain a reality of the nightmare like state the day has taken.

I keep silent, my backpack is digging into my spine but I don’t move either, clamping my eyes shut and trying to make sense of how quickly everything has spiralled back into shit.

That’s selfish and I know it. One hundred and fifty people dead, one hundred and fifty families torn apart. I’m worrying about myself, about the man responsible for those deaths and others. I’m scared of how far he will go, how little effect it has on him, his numbness to death and destruction. I’m scared he doesn’t have a soul.

I played a huge part in making him this way.

Any chance of redemption is long gone. For all of us. There’s no hiding now, Jack has brought me deep into this one, and there’s no escape. Whatever he has planned, whatever horrific schemes he comes up with in the twilight hours I will be involved in. A part of like never before. The wheels are set in motion, and with Jack there is no stopping them.

Especially with no Batman.  
Gotham will rot. As will I. Right down to the core.

Wade barks something at the cab driver, and we’re drawing to a stop, the gravel under the wheels crunching. He nudges me, and I force open my eyes, my surroundings swimming. I don’t deserve to cry and I blink hard and fast, half aware of Wade watching me. The look on his face pisses me off more and I shove the door open hard, several steps away before he catches up. “You’re eager.”

“Where are we going? Where is he?” Several people brush past, we’re far from the bus explosion now. Although with five hitting in quick succession I don’t doubt we’re not close to another. More people dead because of Jack. My stomach turns and when I swallow it stings, acid trying to boil me from the inside out. “I was expecting you to be a lot more reluctant.”

“Fuck off.”

He smirks and for a flashing moment I want nothing more than to jam my fist into his face. “We’re this way.” His hand rests of my shoulder, and he steers me down an alleyway. It’s in-between two apartment blocks, small, fairly decent looking. I don’t recognise them. “Here?”

“It’s not far from the zoo. Thought you’d like that?”

“What?” His heavy elbow takes the place of his hand and he drags me closer to his chest as another couple pass. Her face is thick with a despair I can imagine my own mimics. “Why around here?”

“They’ll be scouring the Narrows won’t they?” He shrugs, as if I’m stupid. “So, Newtown is a much better way to go. Besides,” We’ve past the apartment blocks and we’re at another, the door beneath the fire escape when he slips a card from his pocket. “No rent.” He slides the card, tricking the locking mechanism. “Memories, isn’t there? Being in a basement flat like the old days.”

“Yeah.” I murmur, eyes adjusting to the weak light. Clearly, this isn’t a popular entrance, but it saves us going around the front of the building. I follow Wade down the hallway, the wallpaper is hideous and transforms the building into any other of its kind. Wade keeps up a steady flow of meaningless chatter and sarcastic comments. He’s worried, worried about what he’s done. That’s obvious; typically with Wade the worse he feels the more he talks. Unless he feels terrible, he’s silent then and somehow that’s worse.

I wish he felt bad enough to shut his mouth now, but obviously he doesn’t and it physically makes my chest hurt. For him to sink so low. We pass a few doors, clearly not used and finally stop in front of one reading B4. “Home sweet home.” The urge to strike him makes my fingers twitch but I take a step back, letting him brush past me and open the offending piece of metal.

The room is far emptier than I had imagined, although by all accounts Jack had just sacrificed five of his men on his big opening number. Instead there are six of them, three I do recognise unfortunately and one smirks at me. This even riles Wade, I can see it and he shields me from view with his body. The apartment looks like most in this condition, clearly it’s been left abandoned – or the previous occupants were ‘asked’ to leave. It’s in fairly good nick but there’s still that incessant smell of damp and the furniture is sparse and worn. I edge around Wade, looking for him. He’s not in the living area at least, and I hardly doubt he’s at the stove making anyone some lunch.

I find my voice. “Where is he?” Wade wavers, and I move my gaze to the others. One, some youngish guy with a ridiculous neck tattoo points behind me. From the layout of the place it must be the master bedroom. Jack always needs privacy when he’s plotting, he needs to distance himself and make it clear that he’s in control. He gets the best.

Neck Tattoo moves out of my way as I cover the space in several long strides, my hand going straight for the handle. I see him flinch, I don’t care and I wrench it down hard, pushing. It doesn’t move, the lock jingles as if to mock me and instead I slam my fist against the painted wood several times.

Other than my actions there is no other noise in the apartment. Everyone is waiting for his appearance, how he will react to such a rude interruption. He didn’t get as infamous as he is for being fair. Neck Tattoo physically removes himself from being anywhere near me, slinking over to one of the people I recognize. Bald-head, a scar behind his ear from being bottle, or slashed at, or some shit. He’s one of the smart ones, he comes and goes depending on things seemed to have been going.

But the only people who knew Jack before the Joker are Wade and myself. No-one else ever will.

I let my fist fall. The silence continues as we all wait for some sign he is even acknowledging my hammering. It has to be close to a minute, and I don’t dare turn because the tears in my eyes aren’t just of anger now- there’s a spiteful sting of redundancy, of rejection.

“Maybe we should…” Wade is cut off when there’s a clang and the door flies open. I don’t give him a chance to speak, and my shoulder crashes against upper arm and I storm past and into the bedroom, the light buzzing above me. I don’t know what to expect when the door gently closes and he twists the golden chunk of metal, locking it again. He turns slowly, and his expression is one of amusement.

I take a shallow breath, trying to control myself but instead I explode.

 

**Past**

It was the furthest I had ever been from home. I’d barely been into the half-decent area of Gotham, hardly ever been in a car. So the vehicle pushing ninety an hour, and miles of barely lit road in front of us was exhilarating. “Why don’t you just go all out and stick your damn head out the window like a dog?”

The music is so loud his voice is barely even a whisper. I could only giggle, fingers struggling to grasp onto the winder on the door beside me. They slip down the plastic coating and my giggle becomes a huff as I attempt again. My lips tingle, and when I press them together in a pout they feel like a bubble on the verge of popping.

“I can’t!” Each syllable fizzles. And I let my hand fall back, watching as it smacks hard against my thigh. It doesn’t hurt, it just tingles more and I laugh again. “Fucking hell, you’re actually off your fucking face aren’t you?” His face blurs when he turns to glare at me, his lips are deep crevices. My words get caught on my tongue but I shake my head, so fast the world pauses for a split second before catching up with a whirl.

I’m too heavy, it’s no longer comfortable and instead I’m an anchor, and I’m sinking fast, the motion of the sea is crushing me. The weight on my chest is growing and my lungs cripple under the pressure.


	8. Noodles

**Past**  
I never doubted his integrity.

I never doubted that he would come through on any promise, any threat. And so far he had proven me absolutely right. I had enough money hidden in my bottom drawer to slip my mother some whenever Erik, it was Erik by this point, wasn’t around. Better than that I had enough to buy half decent food, to buy clothes and make-up and normal things I felt I’d never had enough of. I should have been smarter with the money, I should have given my mother more. I hadn’t and she had fallen far further behind on the rent than I had realised. The money I’d given her from helping Jack deal drugs had been spent buying them back for her and her boyfriend.

Once he found out we were being evicted he’d ransacked my room and bruised half of my ribs until he found the wad of money I still had from the last deal. That was the last time I saw Erik alive. Jack offered for me to fire the final bullet myself. I couldn’t and I’d hovered outside until I knew he was dead.

Jack had promised to destroy anyone who hurt me, he’d stuck to that. He had his integrity. But it was hard to pretend I didn’t spend most nights feeling so guilty and disgusting that even the nightmares were a comfort.

After that I spent little time at home, the new, smaller apartment right on the edge of the Slums. I didn’t want to be there. Jack didn’t want me to be there and by this time I was already completely infatuated with him. He didn’t feel the same, at least, I was never aware he did – he never acted on it, showed it. I had the impression I was just another of his pawns. He laid off me for a while though, would slip me money without asking me for any more favours.

There was four years before anything more happened, I was sixteen and Jack nineteen. I’d barely seen him for over a year, in fact I’d been worried he was locked up. I knew he wasn’t dead, I’d started recognising some of the other louts he sometimes ran with and some friends had told me about a deal gone bad. Jack had escaped it, in what I quickly learnt was his typical style. He’d gotten out scot-free, minus a few new scars.

I had become necessary again. And I thrived in his attention. The change in our working relationship came a few weeks later. We had been in the apartment he had ‘borrowed’ from a friend who was doing time, pestering me about something I was distantly aware of. “I'm serious, I don't know anything about it.” He pouted, rolling back onto his back, arm flung back over his head. His sudden nonchalance when he had just been grilling me aggravated me slightly. I stood instead, shuffling into the small kitchen space. Typically there was a minimal amount of food, his eating habits seemed as sporadic as his moods. I huff, digging until I find a packet of noodles not just out of date. “You want these?” He grunts in response but I hear the creak of springs as I set water to boil.

“You don't know who his supplier is?”

“No.” I keep my eyes planted on his, hoping this will someone make him believe me. “I told you, I don't know what shit Adam is getting involved in. I barely know him.”

“Just enough to fuck him.” There's a ghost of a smile as I freeze, “At least that's the latest gossip.” I go to brush him off, but he continues, “And the guys what, coming up for thirty? You know that's illegal right?” He laughs loudly at his own joke, as I don't join in the sound dips and ceases quite suddenly. I turn my back, dump the unappealing dried mass of food into the water. “You pissed now?”

“Nope.” I lie, jabbing at the mound with a fork, “You can make fun of me all you like.”

“I'm not making fun of you.” I shrug, make some noise of disagreement. “He is though. Not just that, taking advantage of you, which I do not...do not like.” His bare feet sound tacky on the floor.

“How is that any different to what you do?” It slips out, the verbal shudder of an argument I had held many times in my head. He's quite close behind me now and I stop prodding the saucepan. “Is that what you think?” I'm already regretting it, thinking of a way to reign the conversation back. “Really Eleanor, is it?” The use of my full name is a slap in itself.

“No.” I stutter, not flinching from the arm that curves around my waist and spins me. “I didn't mean...”

“Then what exactly did you mean?” I stutter again but he cuts me off, “I haven't done anything to you. I've never even asked you to do anything you didn't want to. So how in the hell am I like that piece of shit? I've...I've protected you, looked out for you when you were a fucking kid and then backed off to avoid getting you in any trouble. So how, exactly, Eleanor, am I like Adam?”

“You're not.”

“Then why say it?”

“I don't know.” He hums, leaning over and switching down the gas, the water threatening to bubble over. “Is that how you feel? Really?” His words are softer, “You think I'm using you?” There's no malice in his words now, he looked upset, brow furrowed, creases appear on either side of his eyes. My chest aches, “Be honest.” He implores.

“I stopped seeing you.” I don't need the lift of his brow, the explanation of what he had already admitted. That he backed off to keep me safe. “I know, I know.” I shrug, feeling more idiotic than ever, “I just...” I'm aware that he has twisted this conversation, that my anger towards him has dissipated with words that could be utterly false. But I'm still full of the naivety and in the midst of the feelings that will force me ever closer to him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.” His lips dart up in the corners. I want the smile back, “I know you're not like that, him. I was just being stupid.”

“Good.” He allows me a small smile now. Relief spikes and his arm drops, I move aside as he dishes the now lukewarm mush into two dusty bowls. “You need to stop seeing him though. Never again.” I agree without doubt. I don't know how much he is aware of, how I'd met Adam. How I'd come to end up in his bed whilst my mother faded further from me. She'd be dead within the year.

I'm still waiting for that famous temper, for some cruel remark I'd seen him aim at others who had pushed his buttons. None of that happens, he nudges me back towards the sofa and we eat in silence, the television replaying some awful comedy. The conversation drifts, and without realising, with that expect knack he has, I tell him everything. I catch the repulsed look he catches when I tell him just how low I have sunk to get the medication for my now terminal mother.

He fills me in about a new 'business' he is involved in, the persona he has developed involving some ridiculous masks. He tells me things only I can know, words that wrap around me and enchant me, trap me. Something he has always been very good at.

And he kisses me.  
That seals it.

**Present**

“How many people did you just kill!?”

“Me?” There’s not an ounce of Jack on his face, “But I’ve been here…how could I have killed anyone?” The ridiculous feigned innocence is igniting a reaction from me he clearly enjoys.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” The giggling stops as my voice crashes. “There were at least thirty people on that bus I nearly got on. Wade said there were five buses. Think about it Jack, think how many people you’ve just…”

He takes several long strides, no hint of a limp and is practically pressed against me within seconds. I don’t allow myself to move, although I want to cower away. I keep my feet firmly planted on the thin carpet, although I can’t stop my breath hitching in my throat.

“The bus you nearly got on?”

His face is still bare, still beautiful.

“Yes.” It’s barely audible and his eyes narrow, plump lips pursing. He’s waiting for more and I indulge him, “I was planning on running away. I was about to get on one of the buses that blew up. Wade was following me, he stopped me.”

His brows furrow for a second before they smooth again. “Huh,” he breathes, backing away, looking practically serene. “Wade wasn't who I had asked to keep an eye on you.” There's a familiar hint of suspicion and I shrug at him. “Lucky he was.”

“For who, you or me?” The smirk almost makes him ugly. “Not for everyone else.” I spit, finding the anger bubbling in my stomach again. “Over a hundred people easy Jack.”

“Sure to catch his attention then.” There's no reason for him to explain any further, we both know who Jack is referring to. “Here, sit, sit, sit.” He comes up to me again, pushing me backwards until I'm reluctantly sitting on the grubby double bed. “I have some questions.” He places himself next to me, sitting on one folded leg, head tilted. My stomach is churning still, but I can't tell how cross I am anymore, I feel nauseous and that's far worse, a tremor starting in my hands. I stare at my knees instead, “So, he's training right?”

“R..right.”

“Good, it should make this all more interesting.” He grins, manic, still not himself. The Joker fidgets, taps his fingers on his thighs. “So, where exactly were you planning on running away to?”

“New York.” He lifts a brow, is he surprised that I'm being straight with him, “Somewhere busy enough to disappear.”

“Well, it's gone really well so far. Let me know what the next part of your brilliant plan is.” I find a surge of courage, “Only once you tell me yours.”

He chuckles, practically hops from the bed back in front of me. “You ever sleep with Mr Wayne?” It may catch me off guard but I try to hide it, shaking my head. He grabs my chin, not hard but forces my head up so I'm looking back at him. He makes the familiar humming noise, “Really? With your history you didn't spread your legs for him?” I know we're both thinking of the same thing.

“Seems like you're the one fucking Crane now.” I wait for a hit, it doesn't come. His laughing only increases until he's practically wheezing. There are two short raps on the door. He ignores them completely and his eyes keep flittering to my face, making me redden. “I take it back. You're a lot more fun when you talk back. I'd almost forgotten.” The door is hit again, it must be important, no-one out there seems this stupid.

He sighs, “Answer it.” When I don't react instantly he clutches at my hand, pulls my backpack onto the ground and pushes me in the right direction. I do as instructed, sliding the latch free and opening it. Wade's brow lifts. “It's not you I need to speak to.”

“Why not?” Jack calls from behind me, his feet loud and he comes up, wraps an arm around my waist like he used to. “Elle is a very important part of the plan now.”

I glance at him, out of the corner of my eye Wade looks as lost as I feel. Jack smirks, “She's bait.”


	9. Wade II - Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback from Wades POV

They were on their third apartment in as many months.

That wasn't unusual in the slightest, not with what they were involved in. What was weird for Wade though was the setup. Wade got out of places when it looked at all like shit might go down. There had been a couple of tricky spots but Wade was still with the guy he had met nearly six months ago. That was a record.

This apartment even had a second room, so he had a bed to call his own. At least for whatever short period of time they were here. He was embracing that as thoroughly as possible, he'd even had a bath. A bath! It was cramped, of course, the tub slightly rusting underneath but he'd felt about as relaxed as he could remember. And, since it was quiet at the moment. Jack had made a shit tonne of money, was working out who he owed what too (somewhat admirable that he actually did that – but then he was smarter than most in this game, keep people happy less chance of them literally stabbing you in the back) and then, well Wade supposed he would reap some of the benefits. He yawned, they'd been here for a couple of weeks now. Spruced the place up a little. Creature comforts. He fidgeted, tugging the blanket up over his chest and slamming his head down onto the plush pillow. This wasn't bad, not bad at all.

He was almost asleep when he started to hear them and with a groan he rolled on his side, hitting his head down harder as if to drown them out. He didn't know what was worse, listening to them have sex, with the incessant squeak of the bed, or listening to them argue. That was a lie, even to himself. He certainly preferred the former, especially those times when he could hear her. There could never be any indication of that, he might as well cut his own dick off if Jack was ever to get that idea. He was extremely firm with himself, but unfortunately, with such thin walls, his body reacted. He let himself go then, allowed himself to give in to the temptation and imagine how she looked when she was making such a delicious fucking sound.

Afterwards it all went quiet and Wade, with that now familiar little bite of shame managed to dream.

__________________________________________________________

Wade needed to get laid. It was a simple as that, that would certainly sort the odd mixture of hormones and emotions. Wade didn't get jealous, especially not with girls. He knew he was decent looking, and he knew how to speak to women. Besides, he'd been given the all clear. Jack was away for a few days, out of the city.

Wade knew more details than Eleanor, that had been very clear when he had overheard an especially ferocious argument that he had to force himself not to get involved in. Jack was still dealing the weird colourless liquid, but he had a new seller, a guy making better stuff. Wade had offered to come, to properly cement his place as Jack's right hand, but he'd declined. He didn't want to take Eleanor and more importantly, he wanted someone to keep an eye on her.

That was fair, Wade had seen the deterioration with the tiny blonde already. Jack was in the midst of weaning her off the very toxin he had gotten her addicted too. It wasn't pretty. Being the third wheel wasn't an issue right about now, he wanted to be kept out of as much of that shit as possible.

So Jack left, Eleanor didn't care if Wade went out or not. He promised to leave her with a weapon, just in-case and she'd just rolled her eyes. He felt a little guilty, she was over the worst of the withdrawal symptoms and looked less like death. That didn't mean she seemed fine, far from it. “I don't have to...”

She waved him off, “I'm fine. Go have fun, find someone pretty.”

“Don't answer the door.”

“Jesus Christ, Wade. Just go. Honestly, I'm good.” He held eye contact, as if daring her to disagree with her statement. “Go, you big dummy.” And he did, he went to the closest half-decent bar he could think of, drank several glasses of whisky in quick succession and picked up the best looking girl he could find. And she was beautiful, and easy. He had her against the wall of the bathroom and twice again in a motel room that charged by the hour.

Wade was home by dawn, feeling a bit more in control of himself. He was debating another bath, treating himself and sure that Eleanor wouldn't mind. She never minded, not that they spent much time together. Especially when she was using, then she'd spent nearly all of her time in whatever room her and Jack shared.

He didn't attempt to get his head around that relationship. But it seems legit, he'd expect someone like Jack, someone like him, to keep girls around just for a fuck, to toss them aside if they got clingy. Jack loved her, Wade could see that. She was young, he could see that as well. Not much younger than the two of them, but young enough. She should have been in school, she wasn't. And she never mentioned a family. Some names would come up, but after a look from Jack that would be the end of it.

It wasn't that odd. None of them had friends.

He opened the door and stopped just as swiftly. The apartment was dead silent and the doors open. Jack was that paranoid he demanded the bedroom door be locked when she was in there. Now, locked or not it was never left open. “Eleanor.” He tried carefully, closing the door. The gun was where he had left it, and over in the kitchenette all of the washing up had been done. In fact, the place looked as clean as it ever had. She'd been bored, and sober. If this was what came out of that it wasn't a bad deal.

“Elle.” He lifted his voice a little, used the nickname that only ever passed Jack's lips. He was worried now. He checked the bathroom, that was clean too and empty. His bedroom followed. She hadn't touched that thankfully but their own was empty. Dirty bedsheets were crumpled in one corner as if to be washed. He'd never actually been in here. He was expecting it to be dark, unkept, a cliché. It wasn't. The window was much bigger than his and let in much more light, she'd kept the simple plant on the window sill alive.

“Stop fucking interior decorating.” He cursed himself, she wasn't in here. She wasn't in the apartment, so where the fuck could she be? Instantly he was convinced she must be with another dealer, getting what Jack was denying her. Shit. Jack would kill him, if she didn't kill herself first. He double checks everywhere and slips the gun down the top of his jeans.

It's several hours later, with no sign that he gives up and returns home, praying that she'd gone to some one he wasn't aware of and made it home with her winnings. He'd been to every dodgy guy he could think of, giving random fake names, only a general description and it had been no use. His heart is in his stomach, stupid really. If something happens to her he just drops and runs like he was used to. But there's a stab there. He cares if she's lying in some dirty house with a needle in her arm and some foul guy draped over her. That's even more stupid.

He's getting caught up in their lives which will never end well.

That doesn't stop the relief from bubbling when he can hear music from along the hallway. It's not overly loud, and he can't place it but the old lady from next door is just leaving her home as he passes. “Ask your sister to turn it down, it's disturbing my damn cats.” He wants to laugh, but just nods politely and grabs the handle, surprised to find it unlocked.

The music is louder in here, coming from the master bedroom. “Where the fuck have you been?” He storms in, drawing to a stop as she looks up at him. “Probably having less fun than you,” she teases looking as together as he's ever seen her. That's off-putting. He's used to seeing her in Jack's clothes, drowning her figure, or, worse, her in her underwear like she's purposefully been trying to make him slip up. Her hair is blonder, only a little but it's noticeable that she's been to a proper salon. There are shopping bags taking up half of the floor space and she's balanced on the bed, in what are clearly a pair of pyjamas, although the shorts are little better than underwear, as she leans to tape a poster over a damaged patch of paint. “I came back earlier and you weren't here.”

“Oh,” she breathes, barely glancing at him, “Sorry. I went out.” The gesture to the bags wasn't necessary. “Yeah,” why is he annoyed at her? “I get that. But you were supposed to stay in.”

“Come on, I spent half the night cleaning and I've brought a bunch of nice stuff for this place. Quit moaning.”

“You could have been anywhere.” He continues, and he watches as the implication sinks in. She doesn't speak for a bit, finishes sticking the poster, some horrible artwork, up. “I'm glad your opinion of me is so high.” He feels the heat rush in his cheeks, trying to defend himself. “It's alright, I deserve it.” She spins, the top is as low cut as the shorts are high. “Well, no, actually Jack deserves it, but it's not like we're going to say that to him.” For a change words escape him and she laughs.

“I'm good, I told you. Just tired of living in shit holes. You wanna give me a hand? I've brought you some bits for your room but I didn't want to just go in.” He catches himself and spends the most surreal day sprucing up the apartment.

By the time Jack gets back, two days late Wade knows he has a problem.

He cares way too much.


	10. Because - Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Abuse/ Sexual Assault warning
> 
> This may be triggering for some people.

Eleven months.

That was how long I went without injecting, without touching a drop of the poison Jack was peddling. I couldn't claim to have been completely narcotic free, sleeping pills were a must, cocaine an occasional treat Wade and I would indulge in. Jack didn't like that, but then much of the time Jack seemed to like very little. This was the start.

But Jack liked me. It may not have felt like it sometimes but he did, he apologised, or more often I did and we made up. I enjoyed making up with him. Sometimes so much that I pushed him on purpose just to have that result. Wade told me that was fucked up the day I admitted as much, his bottle much closer to empty than my own. I knew it was, but I didn't care.

For a while it was all going well. There were still worries, mine mainly. It still scared me that Jack was playing people against each other, that he knew how to get people to do as he wanted. It wasn't the money he cared for, he'd give Wade and me the majority of any skimmed from the top. Jack didn't care for cash, for things. He liked the mania, the knowledge he had ripped them off right under their noses. He liked the risk. Ever so often I liked to fantasise about the sort of life there could be, a childish fantasy that I'd realise less than a year later was never going to happen, that there had never been a chance in hell.

The best time to speak to Jack was when he was half asleep, this tended to be mid day, as we were all practically nocturnal by this point. He may have done a deal, but not always. If he had done we were most definitely still naked, my body normally bearing developing marks. Sex was another area of control, sometimes that showed more than others, and I could only imagine what Wade could hear. I knew what he thought, on odd occasions where he spotted bruises, bite marks. He didn't say anything, he was wary of Jack's temper, even though he was his top guy by all accounts- the look on his face was enough. But then Wade didn't know Jack how I did, didn't trust him as utterly and completely as me.

Wade was smarter.

I roll onto my front, the skin on my back tacky with drying sweat. He shifts as well, yawning heavily and stretching. His biceps are red, nail marks evident. It makes a change for me to leave on a mark on him when I am often so covered, but he'd all but demanded it, and who was I to deny him? It wasn't like anyone would see it anyway, I was the only person other than our third wheel who saw him shirtless. I repeat that in my mind again because that ball of doubt is forming. Much like any girl must, I worry sometimes I'm not enough, and he's Jack. Who wouldn't want his attention? He wouldn't do all of this for anyone else, I can comfort myself with that easily. Wouldn't help them fight through withdrawal, wouldn't help them get clean and deal with all the shit along the way.

He's the reason you started using.

That voice isn't what I want to hear and I shuffle back closer to him, on my side. “What time do you need to leave tomorrow?” It takes a little while for him to respond, I'd already asked this, several times, too many times. Enough times for him to get annoyed and despise me for being clingy. “Not until late.” His eyes are closed but his hand moves to catch my cheek, thumb touching my swollen lower lip. “And it's a simple drop off. Won't be too long.”

“Okay.” I hear myself mew, leaning into his palm.

“Why? You got plans or something?” He laughs to himself, a little nastily. When I don't join in or deny him his eyes do open. “Do you?”

“I...I dunno.”

“Well you wouldn't have said something if you dunno.” He mimics my voice. “Why, who do you even know anyway? You don't have friends.” My face drops, I feel it and he reacts to it, but not kindly. His eyes roll and he drops my face, shoving himself up so he's leaning against the headboard. “You don't go anywhere, who the fuck are you talking too?”

“I go places.” I snap back, shrinking afterwards under his gaze.

“You go places.” He repeats carefully. “And where do you go?”

“J...” my mouth dries, “just to the store and stuff like that.” Brows furrow, I want to bury myself deep into the covers and stop this whole conversation, hide away from what I've started. “I can't keep you safe when you go out. You know that.” His words are still perfectly level which only increases the tingles across my body. “I don't...”

“Don't what? Need me to keep you safe?” I don't respond, “Sit up.” He snaps, reaching for my arms. I try to wiggle away and his fingers wrap round like vices, wrenching me towards him and not stopping until I hit loudly against the wood. “Stop moving, stop, stop, stop.” He slaps at my legs until they rest still, the skin starts to pinken and my head aches. When he starts repeating his words like that it's never a good sign. I'd seen him kill people once he was in that place. “Ja...”

“Shut up.” I do, button my lip as he commands. His breathing is a little strained, “How often are you going out?” He roars my name when I don't respond, I tell him between tears it's not much, only ever so often when he's away. “And Wade just lets you go?” He doesn't get it, if anything Wade encourages it, says it's not healthy to be locked up away here. “S...sometimes.” His right hand has formed a fist, “It's not his fault, please don't be mad at him, it's my fault.”

“I know it's your fault.” He growls, although he makes the effort to massage his fingers out straight. “How am I supposed to keep you safe when you don't do what I say?”

“I'm...I'm not going anywhere that's not...” His hand, the palm that had previously caressed me slams against the headboard between us, making me jump. “And how do I know that? For all I know you're out there sucking every guys' dick for more drugs. Is that what you're doing?” I shake my head so quick I'm dizzy, strands of hair stick to the wet on my cheeks. “I haven't...” my voice croaks, “I haven't touched that in months, you know that.”

“I know that. I know that.” He pushes the hair back, behind my ears, glancing at the bruises forming across my chest and neck. “And why?” I scan his face desperately, his jaw is still tense but the rest of his face is serene, it looks like the anger is starting to pass. “Because of you...” He wants more, head tilts slightly, “you...you helped me.”

“And who else has ever helped you?” I whisper the response he wants, the words he wants to sink deep in to me. No-one else has ever helped me. Not like Jack. He nods, lips flicker into a smile. “You're not to go out without me anymore, you understand? It's not safe.”

“Because of what you do?” I'm not sure why I press, I speak so quietly that he could ignore it if he chose to. He stands, starts tugging on a pair of tracksuit bottoms. “No,” His back is to me, “Because of what you might do.” He doesn't grab a shirt and I keep firmly cemented where he had placed me, “But I obviously need to speak to Wade.”

“No!” He glances my way, looking perplexed, “Please don't be cross at him it's not his fault.” The half smile appears again, but warps into a smirk. “He should be sticking to what I tell him.”

“I know, I know,” I appease, “but it's all my fault, not his, don't...hurt him.”

“Why does it matter what I do to him?” He leans back on the bed, eyes on my heaving chest before the smile widens, “Oh no, Elle.” He catches my gaze, “Wade isn't your friend.” There's a laugh which makes my stomach hurt. “Why would Wade be your friend. He does what I ask him to do, that's it.” He shakes his head like it's a big joke, “He's not your friend.” The last word is all but spat. “And why is that doll?”

He waits. “Because I don't have any friends.”

“Good, that's good sweetheart.” He moves as if to stand again but pauses, his features warped as thoughts flicker through his mind. “Come here.” I don't debate it, I move and he drags me onto his lap. “This thing, you and Wade needs to stop.” His fingers start trailing up the inside of my thigh, they clasp a bit of skin tight, beginning to pinch. I hold back my whine. “You're not friends. He works for me, that's it. You don't want me to hurt him then you don't do anything to get him hurt.” His grip tightens, “You stop parading yourself around for him.” I try to argue but he releases my thigh and pinches another spot. “Don't imagine I haven't seen the little looks he sends your way when you're half naked.”

“He doesn't, I don't...”

“Now, I like Wade. He's a good worker. But he's nothing to do with you, you understand?” I nod and his fingers release flesh, move upwards. He forces my legs wider open as he finds his target. “Wade has nothing to do with this.” I'm still sore, and his fingers are rough. “You understand me?” I don't say anything, trying to hide a wince, “Come on, you're not that stupid.”

“I understand.” The sting is starting to fade as my body reacts to his touch. He continues, dipping his head to catch my nipple in his mouth. He kisses his way back to my face, fingers increasing speed and drawing out a breathy moan. “You know why I have to do this right? All of it?”

Because he loves me.

Because he wants me to be safe.


	11. Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Elle spend time together

The story circulated in amongst lesser interests almost constantly. Edward Nigma was looking for a crew to carry off what supposedly would be the greatest heist the city had ever seen. I sincerely doubted that, and when Neck Tattoo brought back rumours, Jack's thoughts were clear on his face.

“What's he planning on stealing?” Wade had asked, mouth full of take out chinese food. Neck Tattoo had shrugged, that was apparently as much as he had heard. He went to keep speaking but the television was put on, volume low enough to mean everyone dropped silent quick, especially when it became obvious Jack was quite interested in what the over-painted news anchor had to say. It wasn't anything special, they were speculating. Some of them even seemed to be relaxing, after blowing several buses sky high (128 people dead, 9 still in critical condition) the city had gone quiet and the Joker hadn't been seen. Half the news stations seemed to see this as a victory, whilst the rest were waiting for whatever 'the maniac clown was planning'.

They could join the club.

I'd been in this shitty basement apartment for a week and nothing had happened. Jack's promise of using me as bait hadn't been met. In fact they seemed to have achieved very little. Jack was planning, but I could make less sense of his rambles than ever. He made me stay in his room, of course, but barely came near me. He was sleeping less than ever, eating worse than I was although he was shovelling food in his mouth now. Blackgate had made him skinny, scrawnier than I could remember him being beforehand. More than that, it made him look old. Not all of the time, and it was never like he took care of himself but premature lines had formed around his eyes and his forehead; they stuck no matter how his features were fixed.

I was worried about him, that was unacceptable.

But his lack of interest had given me time to think, plenty of time. The anxiety and dread had faded somewhat. And if Jack could plan, so could I. Whatever he was working on with Crane couldn't happen. Jack wanted chaos, to show people how messed up they were inside. Crane wanted control.

I tried to remind him of that the other evening when I was feeling a bit more sure of myself, I'd been sat on the bed, hair still wet and dripping tears down my back. He wasn't doing anything, sat on the chair in front of the desk tapping a pencil against his knee in an infuriating pattern. “You're going to break that soon.” I had started, hoping that was innocuous enough a statement.

He'd lifted a brow, sucked in one cheek and continued. “J..” The scars on the side closest to me twitched, “Jack.” He did grant me a look then, his face strained, bags under his eyes. Pity flooded my chest first. “You don't have to do whatever it is Crane wants too.” I didn't mean to phrase it how I had, and I knew how it sounded, like he was caught, scared of Jonathan. Maybe he was but he didn't react. “Let him do whatever it is, get himself caught again. Or...” I was stretching now, “We could leave. Properly, leave Gotham, find some of that stash of money you didn't burn and just go.”

I was surprised when he bit, “Go where?” I'd shrugged, shuffling when he stood from the chair, joints cracking and joined me on the bed. He kept a good metre or so away, legs hanging over the edge as his back met the thin sheet. It was too thin, it was cold down here. “I don't know.” I'd answered honestly when he'd repeated the question. He went quiet for so long I almost thought he was asleep, watching his face settle. He hadn't slept in close to two days, barely left the damn desk. This was progress. I cleared my throat, his eyes opened and closed again, but he was present. “How could...” My own mouth dries as he moistens his, “Why are you... after...”

I was flustered and even half asleep he could tell. He smirks, it twists his scars horribly. “Don't strain yourself.” It's a joke, that's what catches me off guard first, something like Wade would say. Jack makes a joke. I make some humoured noise and the smirk becomes a smile. It's gone quickly and I'm no closer to an answer.

Why would Jack work with the man who maimed him? Then again, why would he want me here? I'd been the catalyst. That sobers me. Does he feel like he has no other choice, that this is his only option? There wasn't the usual fervour in his actions. His heart wasn't in this. It was a play, he was making the right moves, saying the right lines.

Jack needed saving. I first thought that sitting beside him on that bed and it still echoed now, Wade now onto his third beer and the clash of the bottle opener hitting the table pulls me to the present. I jump which earns a chuckle from several of them.

Jack needs saving, he needs stopping. The two are the same.

I need to bring him down. Bring Crane down. I shook that off, Jack could hate me, would hate me. But he had to be stopped. For Gotham's sake, and, almost more importantly, his sake.

The headache I've had since my first realisation spikes and I can feel Louis looking at me, the scar curving around his neck a flushed red against his drunken skin. I have never liked the people Jack recruits, why would I? But Louis sets my stomach in a tangle, it feels like a natural reaction, a gut instinct. I know about him too, I know exactly what he had done to his girlfriend a decade or so ago. I'd met her a couple of times beforehand, she was a bigger state than I was. Louis never cringed away from mentioning her, or the state he had left her corpse in. I detested him, and I was on edge any time he was around. That certainly wasn't helping my headache and I wanted to be in bed, to try and hope broken sleep would fight it off. I wouldn't leave without permission, I knew that and Jack was sat beside me, but had purposefully ignored me for the whole time we'd been in the main room.

At least I was smarter than to argue now. I was also smart enough not to plan an escape. There had been an opportunity four days ago, it felt too easy though. Like Wade had set it up. I didn't know if that his way of apologising and giving me a chance or a test Jack had arranged. I showed no notice of the unlocked and unguarded door. Nothing had changed, not until those two nights ago when Jack had lain beside me. It was small things, but he'd actually slept, me in the same bed. He'd handed me food, spoken to me more, asked me to read over several dull housing documents he was for some reason studying. Jack was starting to trust me, there was no chance of it ever being like it used too, it shouldn't be. I'd torn myself away, shredded us. He was different, and although minimally, so was I.

But I still wanted to save him. How he had done when I was twelve. How I had tried after the attack.

Jack's leaning forward suddenly, and I drag my gaze from his knee. I'd been staring, caught in my head again. This time Wade shoots me a half amused look. I barely glance at him, dragging my feet back up under me. There's an emergency broadcast on the screen, someone turns the volume up.

Edward Nigma has successfully kidnapped the major. We watch in silence, the anchorwoman vanishes to a live feed outside the majors home, police everywhere. “I'll give it to him,” Wade speaks finally, “Not bad.”

Neck Tattoo looks pleased with himself.  
___  
Jack finally excuses himself about an hour or so later. Or rather, he stands, grabs a couple of handfuls of rubbish and chucks them in the garbage. There's a miniscule nod in my direction which grants my own freedom and I get up, brushing down my jeans and once again avoiding Wade's eyes. A couple of the others say goodnight, Louis is the most vocal and I sort of nod before heading straight into the master bedroom. Relief strikes, even if I'm only a few metres further from them. Jack mutters something more, and appears once I've quickly used the en-suite bathroom; cleaned my teeth, washed my face somewhat and brushed my hair. I wipe mascara away from under my eyes, not even sure why I bothered to put it on. I haven't been outside since I'd gotten here.

I look rough without it, that's why, and I'm trying to portray somewhat being together. I'm not sleeping well so I look tired, eyes dull. My hair needed a cut anyway, and my roots are far more obvious than I would have normally allowed the last couple of years. I fiddle with the matching toothbrushes, dragging my eyes down to them. That was one small benefit of Jack being in prison, it seems like they had forced him to brush his teeth. I almost laugh at my own inner dialogue but smother it. They were the only thing on him that looked better, a far better colour. That, and he was washing almost as much as a normal person. More than likely from boredom.

Jack's on the bed again when I come out, the bedroom door closed and bolted. I can hear the others in the lounge, the laughter swells and I make out a couple of comments that seem to involve me. I hover, Wade doesn't shut them down, which doesn't surprise me but in the most ridiculous way actually hurts a bit. I scold myself, moving away from the temptation and towards the lone chest of drawers. I'd placed all the clothes in here directly from my backpack, although I was running low now, having only packed enough to get out of the city. I'd have to ask one of the others to get some clothes soap from the store, this place had a washing machine but it was ancient so I'd be washing my stuff in the sink and waiting days for it to dry.

There's another sudden pain that flashes behind m eyes and I wince, changing into an over large shirt I was using for bed. I don't know whose it was, they seemed to have brought several packs of clothing from a superstore to keep them going.

I pick a few of Jack's bits off the ground, hanging them over the chair and frowning at the bed. He's lain across it, in such a way that I've got no chance of actually getting in and the goosebumps are already prominent on my exposed legs. I try and move around him, he keeps his eyes closed and although there's an amused smile ghosting he doesn't try and help.

I could smother him with a pillow.

The thought comes sudden and quick, blaring through my mind. It's so fierce that I can feel the tendons in my hands tighten and adrenaline flood my body. Not now, if I was to try it now he'd easily fight me off, and do the same to me. Probably not, he'd hurt me bad. Ruin any chance I had of saving him. That's even more ridiculous than planning his murder, saving him.

I could never do it anyway. I could want too, every minute of every day and it would never come to be. My head is pounding. “Jack, move.” I croak, my voice has barely been used the last few days. He does, without argument and half watches me hit my head on the pillow closest to the wall, tugging the stupid, useless sheet up to my neck. “Headache?” He sounds years younger when he asks and I grumble a response.

I don't let myself react when his hand lands on my upper arm and moves to my shoulder. “Did you not pack anything in your little 'running away kit'?” I shake my head slightly, the hand moves up so his knuckles are brushing against my cheekbone. “That's not like you.” He laughs a little to himself, “Normally drugged up.”

“No, I'm not.” I snap, finding myself feeling stupidly hurt for the second time in ten minutes. “I haven't touched anything in years. You know that.” He pauses, but then his fingers go back to massaging the back of my skull. “ Mmhm, good going Elle.”

I huff, tucking my legs up. He continues with his hand on my head for a few more minutes. It does seem to be helping but suddenly they lift and he vanishes for a while. I hear the click of the switch which leaves the room weakly illuminated by the streaks of light from the street lamp outside. Jack is perfectly still, the mattress dips slightly and then that's it. At least he is trying to sleep, which is a positive, if he keeps going he'll literally collapse. The others are still awake, voices muffled by the door. After a while they too quieten, no doubt falling asleep where they sit. It's the middle of the night. Several years ago that was our prime time.

I catch myself in my worries as sleep continues to escape me. There has been nothing from Bruce either, the news keeps catching on that. No sign of the Joker or the Scarecrow, but also no sign of the Batman. I don't know how long Jack will believe my lies if Bruce keeps hiding. Surely he'll help now, with the mayor in danger? I still doubt that, he wanted the police to handle this, he could sit back and watch them fuck it up as ever if it suited him. Liam drifts to mind, and that's a different sort of fear, he'd go in hard. He'd look for me, assume the worst and let his temper rule him. Imagining him coming across any of the men in the other room makes my insides clench.

Tears prickle, and I refuse to let them fall. There was no saving any of them. They would all lead themselves to their own destruction. Innocents would suffer and where would I be, once again on the sidelines, aware and of no help to anyone?

Jack's hand returns, I hadn't actually noticed his movement, too caught up again. He tests the waters, sees that I'm not going to shrug away and it drags down my side, over my hip and onto my thigh. His nails dig into the skin slightly. God, I want too. He hasn't said anything, I can only make out his breathing as a loud car goes past the building, horn shrieking.

I shouldn't, no way in hell should I. But I do, I want too and I do. Finally, when I've nearly worked myself up to actually taking matters into my own hands, he does. His fingers slide to more delicate skin instead and I open my legs slightly, shifting onto my back. He's still not sure, and it's so reminiscent of the first few times we had sex. Not the first, that was alcohol and caught up emotions. But he almost seems shy, and it has been so long. After the attack, the scars, it was rare. He hated me so much for what felt like so long. Any time we had sex it was just that, there was minimal build up and he'd never ever look me in the face. He'd have me up against wherever we were and not speak to me afterwards.

This is the opposite of what I should be doing. Some sane part of me prods deep in my brain. I ignore that, as I'm good at. His fingers finally slip in-between my legs and there's a slight hum when he finds just how willing I am. It's still gentle, irritatingly so and even when a breathy moan escapes me he doesn't increase his pace. I'm lost as to how long this farce continues for, my body aching for him to push his fingers deeper, for his thumb to press harder against me. I whine his name, a burn is building but it's too slow, not enough. The only reaction I get is his other hand holding down my hip when I try to buck them up to meet my goal. I swear at him and he chuckles, deep and breathy. He continues his torture until I finally feel the tightening in my whole body, I've lost all concept of time, and I'm a panting, sweaty mess when I feel the telltale signs. My fingers hurt from clutching the covers and my legs are trembling.

He pulls back his arm and shuffles before a major dip in the mattress as he manoeuvres himself over me. His scars are deep caverns in the odd lighting but for a change they add to his appearance, not mar it. I help him take my t-shirt off, and there's another stretch of time as his mouth explores my neck and chest. I'm such an over-sensitive mess I'm sure I'm close to crying when he finally murmurs my name against my sternum and pushes himself into me.

I lose myself almost instantly, and my moans are far less quiet. He doesn't seem to mind, fingers grasp at my waist, his other hand rests on my collar bone, enough pressure on my windpipe to make my breaths desperate. He doesn't last long either, and rests so his body is touching all of my front.

He kisses me, so gently, like everything else had been.

It's only once, then he heaves himself up and flops back down practically as far as he can get away on the bed.


	12. Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Wade flashback and then a conversation between Elle and Wade takes a turn.

Wade was the face of this operation. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not. This new guy, well, not new, the guy who had created this damn serum in the first place had come back onto the scene. It was a quick meeting and Wade, for all intents and purposes, was Jack. There would certainly be some benefits if that was the case. He got himself ready, slipped on some hideous clown mask Jack liked to use ever so often and was ready to go with a couple of the others. They were low lives, lowest of the low. Sometimes they spoke about time they'd done, inside what crimes they had committed. One of them was a complete whack job, probably what attracted him to Jack.

Wade wasn't sure what that made him.

The truck stopped and he climbed out, clutching a duffel bag full of hundred dollar bills. The market around this stuff was tighter. Plenty of previous dealers had mysteriously stopped. This man was limiting the competition so he controlled exactly where his stuff went. Almost commendable. Jack had a scheme, of course he did. Wade was privy to some of it, not enough to understand all of his bosses intentions. Now, if Wade was in charge he'd limit what he was selling of the stuff, drop it until he wasn't touching that shit. Nothing good could come of this. A car pulls up, far too nice to be from around here and a tall man steps out, Wade can tell the suit is expensive. Jack had warned him not to say too much, simply exchange the money for goods, nod where necessary.

The other man has other ideas, and started blabbering instantly, his face disguised by a horrific looking sack mask. He'd called himself the Scarecrow. That popped back up into Wade's mind and he was glad for the plastic covering his mouth. The others are getting restless, Lewis, who stands to Wade's right is coming down from the vile mixture of tablets he shoves in his mouth at least once a day.

Eventually the money is passed over, and with a muffled promise to keep the product 'clean and of a high quality' the two groups split with a handshake. Wade doesn't head straight back to the latest apartment, this one purchased outright from a crook landlord. He dumps the others in Old Town, repeats Jack's instructions and informs them of the next meeting, time and place. He leaves, ditches the van and his jacket four blocks away. The mask makes it way into his bag and he emerges from an alleyway in a decent pair of black trousers, shoes and an untucked shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. It's sometimes easiest to hide in plain sight.

He taps several times on the locked door, unable to keep the smile from appearing when Eleanor answers, looking relieved. “It all went okay?” She breathes and he nods, her shoulders visibly relax.

“Where is he?”

“Asleep.” She responds softly, and they both ignore the way her eyes hold tight on the suitcase. He knows she craves it sometimes, probably a heck of a lot more than she admits too. “He knew you'd do a good job.” He doesn't need the compliment but still it warms him.

“Don't I always?” The roll of her eyes is expected and it makes him chuckle, although he keeps his voice low. He was glad they were speaking again. Although conversation certainly dried up when Jack was in the room. “Are you okay?” It slips out, and although they lock eyes for a moment she quickly tears her away, “Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?” He doesn't respond, aware he would say too much and quickly regret it.

“There any food?” He breaks the silence that forms, laying the bag down and treading into the kitchen, kicking off his shoes. She isn't wearing any, she hardly ever seems to but then, she very rarely leaves wherever they are based, not unless she's with Jack. Her days of going out when he wasn't here stopped suddenly. Right after the argument. That was the closest Wade had come to interceding, it took every ounce of his control not too. He'd heard them fucking, as usual, touched himself, as usual and then dozed off. The argument had been far louder, one sided. He'd heard the yell, heard the thumping of what must have been the headboard and the sound of skin against skin.

He hadn't completely been able to constrain himself, moved, under the cover of the yelling out of his room and to their door.

It had been muffled but he could hear most of what Jack was saying.

Eleanor didn't so much as look at him for a least a week afterwards. And Wade avoided her like the plague, Jack had made a comment about him looking at her. He knew something and Wade wanted to keep his eyes in their sockets. It wasn't just about himself though, he certainly didn't want Eleanor getting hurt over him.

He didn't understand her. That was the only clarity he had, that she made no fucking sense to him. He knew battered woman, he knew how people acted in abusive relationships and at times she fit that bill perfectly. But then, sometimes she was a different person, not just with him, but with Jack. She'd joke back, she'd laugh and be loud. Especially now she was clean....cleanish. He got a taster of who she could be. She would be better off without Jack, he could see it, no doubt Jack could.

That wasn't how love worked, and she was still young, Wade had to remind himself, barely nineteen.  
But then he was spacing out and dragged himself into the present. He was half staring into a well stocked cupboard. “Next time you go shopping can I do you a list?”

“Why?”

“Because you only buy things that you two like. I don't want to live on pasta.”

“Hey! Pasta is good for you.” She scoffs, but accepts the jar of sauce he offers. “You two eat?” a brow rises in response. “You wanna wake him up and ask if he wants food?”

“In a bit.” He senses the hesitation. They must have argued again and he half checks over her visible flesh for marks. Nothing, even her neck is clear of the frequent love bites. “Alright short stuff, I'll get him when it's cooked.”  
___________

Wade doesn't look at me the next morning. Doesn't take a genius to work out why. Jack wakes up early, I've barely slept, going over and over the previous night in my head. Not just the physical aspect of it all. But my decision. Saving him.

Two of the guys dress in police uniforms. I'd obviously missed this part of a scheme but it was one of the best ways for them to get out there, close to any action. They leave by eight am. The uniforms are real, as are the badges and radio they have clipped on their belts. The men who used to wear those uniforms, the prideful men working to keep our streets safe were dead somewhere. Their families may not even know yet.

Everyone but Neck Tattoo leaves shortly after. This does surprise me. Not just that Jack would leave me here, but that he would leave me with anyone but himself or Wade. He doesn't trust people, that's part of his character. And I can only imagine the conversation that must have been had when he told the youngest cog in his machine to stay on babysitting duty.

If he tried anything, would I be able to stop him?

I'm not even locked in the bedroom as expected. I have free reign of the apartment. We watch them leave, Neck Tattoo and I. Jack, dressed in plain clothes doesn't even shoot me a glance. But I don't miss Wade's eyes skimming over my new companion.

He doesn't speak when they leave. Neither do I for a time. I wonder what his name is, and it's on the tip of my tongue but I don't bother. Likely he'll be dead before too long. I'm thoroughly impressed they've all lasted this long. But then, I don't really know what is in the midst of planning.

But I could try.

Neck Tattoo won't question me being alone in the bedroom. He probably wouldn't say much if I ransacked the entire place. All it would take, really, is a phone. I could diall one of Bruce's phones. He'd catch on, check where the call was being made from. I could lead him right here. He'd take Neck Tattoo down, and then when the others got back... It wouldn't really be saving Jack, not in the way I dreamed of, but it would stop him. To be fair though, the only thing that could likely save Jack at this time would be a lobotomy. They must have had the brightest in the country seeing him in the depths of Blackgate and there was no change.

“You have a phone?” The question slips, his head shakes instantly although his eyes widen a little. “If you do I want it.” My words are steady. He actually looks intimidated, interesting. Maybe Jack had told him to let me do whatever the hell I wanted. Maybe, and to whatever extent, he knew about me and what I'd done. Would that be enough to prick fear into him? “I don't have one.”

“Is there one in the apartment?”

“I don't know.” His eyes betray him a second time, they flicker towards the kitchenette. I'm halfway there before he realises his mistake and he hesitates about grabbing me, watching me meekly for a few seconds whilst I rip cans from cupboards. “Where is it?”

“I don't...”

They haven't hidden the knives away and the largest finds its way into my palm. “Tell me where it is.” He shakes his head again, but he's scared. Of what, is the real question but I take advantage of it regardless. “You been stabbed before eh? And I know this is rusty but that just means if it doesn't kill you, it will get infected. Do you think anyone around here will be rushing you to a hospital?”

He rushes at me, but I dart aside, feel tension as the knife catches his forearm. I am actually in better shape than this kid, that makes me want to laugh, cruelly and out-loud. I reckon I could probably fight him off without the knife at all. He clasps at the cut, it's long but not deep.

I spot the familiar scars on the inner crease of his elbow, a mirror image of my own. “Get the phone for me. I don't want to hurt you.”

“If I give you the phone he'll hurt me!”

I allow a forced laugh this time. I know what to say to get what I want. It's low and disgusting but I do it. I'm not any better than the words themselves. “Look, you're going to get hurt either way. You get me the phone, or you take me to the nearest public one.” He shakes his head, his fingers staining red. He looks pale, sweaty already. “Fine, then what I do is hurt myself a little and tell him that you tried something.” Shoulders tense. “I could go all out 'Gone Girl' and fuck myself with a bottle, tell him you raped me. How do you reckon that would play out?”

“You wouldn't.”

“I would.” I swallow hard, my palm is slick around the knife handle. “I will.” I stare him out, feeling like I've learnt far more about him in the last five minutes then five days. He doesn't belong here, addicted to the same thing I may have once been. Well, not exactly the same. Since Crane went away that had all stopped. It didn't mean people hadn't tried to recreate it, hadn't made their own poor versions. He was weak. I hesitate. “Why are you with him?”

He refuses to hold my eye-line. I try again and get no response. Whatever tragic backstory he's hiding shouldn't concern me, won't concern me. “Get the phone then.”

More time, but then he moves, gesturing I shift so he can crouch down beside the sink. I carefully place the knife down. He pulls out a tin, hands it to me. When I open it it's empty. Genuine surprise catches on his features.

Wade. That son of a bitch.

“I thought there was one there, I swear it!”

“Looks like Wade doesn't think much of you.” I close it, chuck it at him. “Put it back and sort yourself out, we're leaving then.”

“The door is locked from the outside.” It's not just the door, the windows that creep over the side walk are blocked as well. Rats in a cage. There is no point in getting angry, especially not at Neck Tattoo. Maybe they left him here hoping we'd fight. It could just be yet another test from Jack.

Do I fail if I kill him, or if I leave him alive?

I am a murderer. But not today. Not without cause. We find needle and thread from a grubby first aid pack and I help stitch the cut on his arm. Tell him to cover it up, act like we've had a lovely fucking day and make sure it doesn't get infected. He thanks me, several times, too sincerely.

If there is anybody who doesn't deserve to be here, perhaps it's him.

He has fallen into this, caught himself in a web. Even his attempt to sound smart, tell us what he had found out about Nigma. All for approval. All to be accepted. I pity him. That sickens me.

We watch the television in a near silence. With the place near empty I allow myself to breathe a tiny bit more. He isn't a threat at this stage. I bark a few orders and he follows them. We shove all the garbage in a couple of bags. I've always hated living in shit holes.

Ha, living, is that what this is? I am living with Jack and his goons in a near underground lair.

If that doesn't depress you, nothing else will.  
___  
I spend several hours in the bath. I have to half empty and re-fill it a couple of times. Even so, by the time everyone returns it's freezing. My fingers are swollen, tips wrinkled and stinging.

Whilst the water was running, the first time, I'd dug through all the paperwork on and in the desk. Jack has somehow accumulated the plans for the slowly constructing Wayne Manor. He must plan to destroy it all over again, send Bruce a message. But it's too obvious, a signpost, not even the most oblivious would see that as a random attack. He would out Batman. Surely that would ruin some of his fun?

There's nothing else of use that I can see.

Now they're back I pull myself out, wrap thin towels around me. I clutch the heavy fabric that had joined me. My poor attempt at cleaning clothes. They will take forever to dry, I know that. Regardless I wring them out as best as my shivering hands can and carry them into the bedroom, draping them over broken radiators. I'm still waiting for someone to go out for something over than fast food. I have a list of necessities as long as my arm.

I hate that. I'm trying to make down here liveable. It shouldn't be liveable. I shouldn't be sinking into old habits, I am accepting this. All this talk about stopping Jack, however internally, and I am doing nothing.

I dress, make myself look half decent and wait. I'm not hungry, even though the greasy smell invades the room. My stomach is too knotted to even consider it. Footsteps grow louder after a while, and there's a gentle knock before the door swings open. “You want food?”

“No thanks.” He steps in regardless, holding a styrofoam box that risks tipping from his hands as he sits heavily beside me. He waves it at me, I push it gently away. “You need to eat.”

“I ate earlier.”

“Liar.” A grin follows, he has some sort of herb stuck in-between two of his teeth. Scoffing, his foot continues tapping on the ground, I curl my legs up under me. “So,” He touches, swallowing a large mouthful, “You have a nice day?”

“Wonderful.” I drawl. “You kill anyone today?” My tone is measured and neutral. There's a tightness to his forehead. “Me personally?” A nod, “No. I didn't. I er...” a pause, “To be honest seems like you actually got closer to it than I did. I didn't spill any blood today.”

Neck Tattoo has ratted me out.

I go straight in, my posture mimicking, “Was there really a phone there?” He nods at me, seemingly unable to meet my gaze now. “And you moved it?” Again, the same movement. “Why?”

“What were you planning on doing with it?”

“Calling Bruce, getting him to track the signal and...”

“Lead him right here.” Wade finishes my thought, frowning deeply. It ages him. “You're that desperate for us all to get fried?”

“There's no death penalty here...”

A scoff, “Not yet anyway. I'm sure they'd make exceptions.” Dark brows curl, his tongue darts over his lower lip, “You really think you have it in you to watch him die?” We're being honest now, so I reply truthfully. He almost looks disappointed in me, “Well then, looks like I did the right thing after all.”

“I thought about trying to kill him yesterday.” I whisper this, so quiet he could pretend he didn't hear it. But I enjoy the minuscule flickers in his facial muscles. “I couldn't.” Still true. “But he needs to be stopped, he needs to be saved.”

I'm certain he closed the door upon the entrance. But he feels the need to lean forward and check. I can hear the noise from the other room and am certain my treachery isn't known. “Brilliant fucking plan Elle. How exactly do you expect to do that?”

“How many people are we going to let him kill?”

“As many as it takes.” It feels rehearsed. I question him, push for a number. “As many as it takes for us to rule this city.”

“He doesn't want to rule Gotham. You know that.”

“And what does he want?” I can't answer that, I've thought various things things throughout the last fifteen years. None seem to be right. “What do you want Wade?”

“Does it matter?” I push myself up onto my knees. So close that our elbows brush. “You need to help me end this. Stop him.”

“Stop him or save him?” He exhales sharply, “They're very different fucking things.” Finally he twists his upper body, I don't try and hide the tears that have been silently creeping down my face. He shakes his head, looks disappointed. “You don't know what you want Eleanor.” His hand lands purposefully on the bed, as if his distaste wasn't enough. “You sleep with him because it's some part of your master plan or because you wanted too?”

I can't claim it's the former, not at that time. I don't say anything and it's all the answer he needs.

“When you actually decide what the hell you want let me know.” Doubt hovers in his gaze. I allow a tiny drip of relief as he stands. Wade is having doubts. Wade is redeemable. He barks that I need to follow him into the next room. Pulls a face at the cleavage my shirt has. I refuse to cover it, shooting daggers at his collar bones instead.

He pauses, just before he opens the door again. “Ask him.” He murmurs, I struggle to understand, “Ask him about Dr Quinzel.”


	13. Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Wade need to talk

He's played his hand perfectly. Set into motion the stir of paranoia, the twisting of jealousy deep in my gut. Wade would have mentioned that name for this very purpose. To pit me against them both, to make things difficult. This Doctor could be no-one, simply a name he recognises and wants to taunt me with. He's mad at me, but would he do this? I'm not sure, which only makes everything worse.

I swallow it down, for that evening and all of the next day. Jack plots, takes phone calls on the same crappy cell that Wade had done previously. I try to cling on to names, make sense of who is who and what their intentions are. At one point, when Jack huffs and sits on the bed, it's Crane on the phone. I can hear his tone through the buzzing.

I move away with my throat thick, Jack notices with the point of one brow but says nothing. Eventually, he seems finished and tosses the phone across the mattress. “Get ready.” He orders blankly, “It's time for you to be useful.”

“Useful?” The word is repeated back at me in an increasingly frantic fashion so I do as I'm told. Put on a finally dry dress and slap on some make-up. I look the most myself I have here. At least, the myself I had tried to be for the last year. “Where are we going?” I finally ask, ready and fighting the urge to pick at my nails. I bite my lip, and instinctively my hand lifts to my mouth. He slaps it away and I keep it pinned to my side as he rummages around.

Finally, he seems satisfied and looks oddly normal. His hair is pulled up into a messy bun, highlighting his cheekbones more than ever. He looks good. I don't deny myself that thought. He mumbles for me to come on, although he moves a chunk of my hair back over my collarbone in a delicate manner. I follow, as ever and find the rest of his 'crew' ready and waiting.

“You know where you're going?” Jack barks at Louis who nods, letting his eyes drag over me. The hair on both arms prickle. Jack doesn't seem to notice anything, Louis grabs his gear and heads out with one of the others. Wade is checking a pistol and slots it into the waistband of his jeans.

“You're with Wade.” Comes the instruction. I'm half tempted to query this, but at this point that almost seems too good to be true. Ten minutes later I'm outside, Wade wordlessly passing me his jacket when I'm shivering. “Thanks.” I allow, shrugging into it, grateful for the barrier against the chill wind. “What are we doing?”

“He didn't tell you?” I lift a brow, although my stomach pinches.

“He doesn't tell me a lot of things,” I answer swiftly. I haven't been keeping track of where we're walking and we keep at it for at least another half hour, Wade oddly silent. Eventually, he grabs my hand gently and pulls me to a stop. “You need to make a call.” Confusion must flood my face, he sighs, nudging me towards the payphone. “Jack wants you to call Bruce,” his lip curls, “call him, act upset, let him track the call.”

“But that's...”

“Exactly what you wanted to do anyway.” He leans against the plastic walling separating us from a bus stop. He grins, although it doesn't look believable. “Slight change to that genius plan though.” He pulls out a cell phone, yet another one I don't recognise and dialls quickly. The speaker is quiet and Wade gives nothing away, responding in grunts.

“Diall Bruce.” He demands, voice unusually cold. I do as he says, recalling Bruce's penthouse number from somewhere far back in my brain. It rings a few times, and Wade snatches it out of my hand, listening to the tone. He forces it into my grasp and I can hear Alfred, sounding exhausted, wondering who had this private number. I slam the phone down instantly. “Why does he want me to call Bruce?”

“For fuck sake Eleanor.”

“I'm not doing it, I'm not helping him anymore.” His lips purse, as if he's dealing with a spoiled toddler having a tantrum. “I'm not betraying Bruce again.”

“Again being the primary word. You had no problem doing it before!” The words lift and a woman waiting for the bus glances worriedly over. “I'm not doing it.” He's too slow and I slip away, not bothering to run, there's no real option of me getting away but I keep a few steps ahead for a block. “Fine.” He snags the jacket, forcing me to a halt. “Don't do it. How do you think that will go down?”

“I don't care.” I all but spit, my insides still turning violently. “I meant what I said...”

“And how many times have I heard that before?” His voice lifts, poison in his imitation, “I mean it Jack, I haven't touched anything. I mean it, I'm not letting you into the building Wade.” He keeps going, each more spiteful, each painful memory of my failure digging deeper. ”How about,” he's holding a handful of the fabric so tightly it's straining. “When you meant it few months ago? That sure didn't fucking stick did it, you hopped back into bed with him the minute he'd have you. You talk shit Elle, everything you say never fucking follows through, does it? You'll help him, you can't stop yourself! Why do you think he didn't bother getting you when they broke from Blackgate? He knew you'd come begging for him, that you wouldn't be able to help yourself. You're a...” He flings his free arm aside, grasping for the word, “you're a leech Elle. What are you, what are you without him, really?” The fire is gone from his words when he finishes, all that anger dissipated.

I am as empty as the stumbled apology that follows. Numb. “You're not...” He's released me now, given me the possibility of running from his words. My eyes don't water, I treasure that much. “You're not supposed to...” What was I trying to say? You're not supposed to say things like that, think things like that?

You shouldn't be able to see me for what I really am.

I'd always lived with the view that Wade saw a very rose-tinted version of me. That maybe, just maybe, he thought I was better than I was. I'm as much mistaken here as I appear to be in most things. At least Wade is silent, he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms, unsure how much to look at me. He feels bad, there, we've cracked it. Killing five buses worth of people don't do it but knowing he has unveiled his true opinion of me does.

I laugh, surprising myself as much as him. It's short, derisive and there's nothing really there. His eyebrows shoot up, hold still halfway up his forehead. I cover my mouth to hold the laughter down. “I'm still not doing it.” The words spill, his face tightening further. “And Jack can do whatever the fuck he likes in retaliation. Who fucking cares?”

It feels like an era passes. “I care.”

“Well, you're just stupid then aren't you?” He gapes, goldfish. "You've just given a whole list of reasons why you shouldn't." As his mouth opens I cut him off, "I don't care. I really don't Wade, we'll just go back. I'll let Jack know we've let him down." The shrug is all for show, "Maybe he'll carve us up a little, it's not like he hasn't threatened to plenty of times." In the midst of my madness I'm moving again, Wade scurrying behind me. My voice is uncomfortably loud. "Maybe I will ring Bruce, leech off him a little. Even better, what if I fucked him? Get the full set then! Jack would be so proud of us." He keeps saying my name and I'm more than aware of a number of looks aimed our way. Wade reaches level, and steers me down an alleyway, somewhere more private. There's one more blow I can strike as he leans against the wall, lines deep in his forehead. "I could tell him," I let it sink in, "About us. Are there bonus points for going above and beyond the full set?"

There's a second where he genuinely looks like he wants to hit me square in the face. I can hurt his feelings just as much as he can mine. "That's it, isn't it? If I'm a leech how much better are you? I wouldn't have to go begging after him in you hadn't let him out!"

He retracts as if I've slapped him. I make myself stop pacing, my heart is pounding, pulse racing up one side of my neck. Wade is staring through me, it's the only way to describe it. He's paused, I am not present in this moment.

A particularly strong gust of wind travels past the high buildings and shoots down the narrow space, I huddle further into his jacket. It's sobering and allows my heartbeat to slow. Along with that calm comes the rest, a prickle over my flesh, of embarrassment, shame. I want to cry now, feel my throat clogging.

“Let's get some food.” His voice comes out of nowhere, breaking through the ringing in my ears. A smile seems almost natural, and he rests a hand on my lower back until I'm steady on my feet. He leads us into a small cafe, a cute looking place and sits down in a booth, inviting me to mimic him. I do so, instantly thankful for the warmth. A young girl comes over, must be barely sixteen and passes us some menus, rambling on about what specials they are offering. Wade is much better at pretending to listen than I am.

Why has he brought me in here? Suddenly acting under the pretence that everything is fine. I stand by it, I mean it, regardless of what Wade thinks. My fingers are picking hard at the skin around my thumbnail. I will not willingly aid Jack. Regardless of what punishment ensues.

It will destroy the last few days. I ignore that dark thought, the one that pushes me back into bed beside him, the one that craves his touch, no matter the cause, no matter the circumstances.

The waitress is gone, and Wade pushes the second menu towards me. “I don't have any money.” I croaked, clearing my throat. “My treat.” He says blandly, scanning over the options. When the girl returns, her hair slightly neater I note, I'm no closer to having picked anything. I'm not hungry, too het up to eat, and sitting still is an effort. He looks at me, reads this, and orders for both of us, putting on a wide smile that makes the girl blush. I hate her a little just then.

Drinks arrive before either of us speak, and I suddenly realise just how thirsty I am, taking the glass and finishing it quickly. I run my tongue over my lower lip, savouring the moisture. “I'm not tricking Bruce.” He wishes I hadn't mentioned it, but I keep going, “I'm not going to help him. You can tell him whatever you like, I tried to run away, you did your best and I refused... Whatever.”

“Because he's known for being cool-headed and reasonable.”

“It's you.” I remind him, “He wants you around.”

“As much as he wants you?” Wade counters, with no malice this time. He's sipping what smells like coffee much more civilly, studying me again. I can only imagine how frantic I look. “I'm sorry for...”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“You're going to.” He demands, no room for argument. I shrivel up a bit further into the padding. “I'm sorry for a lot of stuff Elle.” His adams apple bounces hard, “I...I'm sorry,” he swallows hard again.

“For what?”

“Being a dick.”

“That's very broad.” I play with the glass just to give me some way to avoid looking at him.

“I shouldn't have said that.” He starts, “I shouldn't have.... mentioned Dr Quinzel, or pulled that stunt with the phone in the apartment or the door or...”

“If I say I accept your apology will you shut up?” The corner of his lips dart upwards quickly. I take several shallow breaths and even smile as the waitress brings over two burgers. Wade doesn't dig into his as I had imagined but instead looks even less interested than I am. I make the first step, pick up a fry and shovel it into my mouth. It's hard to chew, and there's no taste to it. This prompts him and another few minutes pass in a still uneasy silence. I manage most of the fries, and start shredding a lettuce leaf as I search for words, “What are you going to tell Jack?”

“Dunno.” He takes a big bite, the grease on the meat shining under the yellowing lights. “Nothing.” He decides once the burger is gone. I echo the word, how could we get away with silence? “No reason he needs to know it didn't happen. It wasn't...” He glances, guilty, “I don't...think it's as important as he wanted me to think.”

I realise exactly why I had been placed out of the way. “He's moving, isn't he? We're not staying in the same building.” The lines across his forehead give me the answer. “So, what was me ringing Bruce going to achieve? You were obviously blocking the call so he couldn't track it.” If Wade is surprised I'd figured this out he hides it well, “There's a trap somewhere, right?” Silence, “He hasn't told you?”

“You done?” I shrug, popping another lukewarm fry into my mouth. Wade mumbles that he needs to respond to a call. “Is it him?”

“No.”

“But you're going to lie to him?” I push again, “Tell him I did what you asked?” He chucks a few notes on the table, “Can I trust you to stay here until I come back?”

“Can I trust you at all?” I retaliate, a little satisfied by the hurt that flickers.

“Stay here Elle. Practise your game face.” The minute I hear the door go I stand, straight to the counter. “Do you have a bathroom?” The girl nods, pointing somewhere in the back corner.

“Brilliant, thank you.” I shoot her what I hope is a dazzling smile, “You don't happen to have a phone I can borrow quickly do you? Mine's dead.”

“Why can't you ask your boyfriend?” She asks a little testily, eyes glued on Wade's form.

“He's not my boyfriend.” I answer, pushing hair behind my ear, “He's my cousin, and he's got loads of business at the moment so that phone won't be leaving his hand. Please, you'd be doing me a massive favour?”

She agrees, pulling one from under the till. I thank her, quickly dialling for Bruce's penthouse again and slipping into the small bathroom.

Alfred answers and I cut him off quickly, “It's Eleanor, I'm fine. No, no, honestly I'm fine. The Joker and Crane are working together, I don't know what about. Tell Bruce, but don't come for me. I think there's a set-up. We're moving today I think, I don't know where. Please, Alfred, I need to go. Just tell him, be careful. I can't... Bye, bye.”

The phone goes straight into my pocket and I flush the toilet for good measure, rinsing my hands and dabbing some water on my cheeks. I feel a little manic again and control my breathing as I slip out. Wade is waiting, chatting to the waitress. I slip the phone back onto the counter when he's turned around and follow him out onto the street once again.

I'm not sure if I have played exactly into his hands or not.


	14. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor seeps further into her drug addiction. Flashback episode

The price may have risen, but that's not reflected in the seller. His nails look even more rotten than before, thick grey grime underneath them. “I'm keeping with the demand Princess.” He taunts, knowing there is no chance I am walking away from this deal. My body is already on edge, tension thick down my legs, the need making my hands taut. I am all apprehension, have been since I hopped off that bus. I need this, there's no way I can leave.

I scrabble through the notes in my back pocket, forcing them into his hand. He pulls them up into the light instantly, checks over as if they're counterfeit. “It's real.” I spit, my distaste for him growing by the second. He is purposefully slowing this down, making me wait in some pathetic attempt to exude power. “Give it to me.”

He vanishes into the kitchen for a moment. No doubt speaking to the man who acts as his boss. I don't care, my foot is tapping and my heart is in my throat. I need this, it had been longer than usual, nine days since I had last managed to sneak away. But Wade was covering for me, this one last time he had promised. It wouldn't be, he'd keep helping me. He was stupid enough to. Or kind enough, I was never sure.

“Boss says the back bedroom is free.” I hadn't even noticed the man reappear. The only thing on him that seemed undamaged are his teeth, they're perfectly straight, a white that clashes with his bloodshot eyes. “I guess you're staying 'round, eh? I know you don't want who-ever-it-is knowing what you're up too.” He retracts the equipment as soon as I move, “Ah, ah, ah, how about a kiss first? I'm doing you a favour here, talked the boss down from additional forms of payment.” He grins, and I drive my foot as hard as I can into his shin.

I'm sure it hurts me more than it does him, but he relinquishes what I need and I tread the familiar path upstairs, ignoring the noise coming from the rooms I pass. It's easy enough to do when I'm holding what I need. The shame will come afterwards, when the high has faded and the lethargy sinks in. That's when I will feel vile, dirty and disgusting.

Every time I promise myself that's it. I'm done. If Jack were to find out...

Jack must know, however dazed I am that is obvious. There is no chance he hasn't worked it out, as busy and wrapped up in increasingly dangerous schemes as he is. I am hiding it well, I can pride myself on that, I'm making sure I eat, I'm cleaning myself. I'm hiding it but I will never outsmart him, not for a second.

If he knows I'm doing this he doesn't care. Is that freedom or punishment?

I slam the door shut, huddling with the pieces wrapped in cloth until finally the needle is in the crook of my arm and warmth fills me.  
___  
Jack is away for a week. He takes Wade with him, an unheard of length of time. We're in a house, a nice house, and one where the residents certainly won't be coming back. I have a fake ID, Wade has three. We pay bills.

I should be happy.

I last three days before I go back. The price has gone up again, but I have a handbag crammed full of crumpled notes. I sink lower with every passing minute and cannot stop myself. I'm fairly sure at one point that I've actually overdosed and am only scared of that fact that this does not frighten me. But I don't die, I feel like death but I don't die. When I'm somewhat rational, it's obvious there is no sense of time. How much of it has passed? It's dark through the window. There are several short raps on the door which send my heart into my sternum and rattle my brain, a bobble-head doll.

I scramble up, each limb feels completely deprived of blood and I am woozy. More than woozy, I can barely stand, and the bed is across the room. How had I gotten to the window? I was damned sure I had started on the bed. I couldn't even remember the high.

Shame stabs, a constant companion now and I just about make it, half knelt and blinking hard to force the double vision away when the door opens and a body enters. I'd been expecting the creep from downstairs, peddling more drugs, demanding money, or worse. Not worse, I shake that away, I could not fight off worse.

It isn't him. The stranger looks cautious, smart clothes worn in a messy fashion, dark hair that matches.

He drapes himself along the edge of the bed, fussing over some ancient stain. The frown only deepens as his eyes scan over the remainder of the room, he seems to be avoiding me. I'm unsure if this is for his benefit or my own. “I hadn't realised how much of a state this place was.” The words are hummed, his voice is slow. “The intention was to have a safe house, I suppose.” Long fingers rub together, a nervous habit I guess. “I understand the compound can become extremely addictive, I was hoping that providing a safe place for it to be used in such an event would...” He allows himself to look properly at me now, and I can't stop myself running a hand through my hair, pushing it back behind an ear. I can imagine how I look.

His eyes are such a startling shade of blue up close.

“I'm sorry. You're probably not feeling up to this conversation.” One of his hands lifts, and, testing my reaction slowly clasps my own, moving to feel my pulse. He is cold. “When was the last time you...” It looks as if the words are a poison that cannot be swallowed. I can only shrug, time has left me behind. That hum again, and knowing I am placid he moves and stares deeply into my eyes, it takes a moment to realise he is checking my pupils. Happy, he instead ends up prodding the inside of my elbows, the circular bruise left just above. The elastic was somewhere on the floor.

“There was never any intention of it becoming additive,” He explains, the pad of his thumb smooth, a learned man, not used to labour. “But of course, we as a species crave contentedness, happiness...”

He speaks on in this way for several minutes, much of what he says going over my head. But I catch the drift within the fog. The drug, his 'compound' tricks the brain into thinking it is happy, releases those endorphins I remembered vaguely from a biology lesson. No surprise there, drugs affect your brain, big shocker.

“You must have other things that make you happy.” It's not a question, it is an assumption. I nod, not sure if it's honest. What does make me happy? Jack, most of the time, sometimes. “Then I suggest you go back to that, whoever it may be.” I nod once again. “You're much too young to be caught up in any of this.”

“You don't seem that much older.” My voice is a crackling whisper, a log on a fire but he hears, half smiles. “It speaks.”

Malice is missing, amusement in its familiar place. “Are you able to get home? I can call you a cab?”

“I'm fine.” I try to stand, prove my point and end this odd meeting, but the foot resting beneath me is riddled with painful prickles and I stumble, those large hands catching me. “Careful,” I repeat my earlier phrase and the frown comes back. “You're quite clearly not fine.” He forces me to sit, “How long have you been in here?” Again the prodding starts. “I'm not that sort of doctor...” He catches himself, and there's a tiny smile that shows his teeth for the first time, “Well, I'm not any sort of doctor at the moment, soon.”

“You're the sort of doctor who makes drugs.” The embarrassment is twisting in my stomach, he's an easy target. The best target there ever could be. Jack gave me the drugs but he was the source. He was the maker, the chemist.

“Not drugs.” The grip on my arm tightens, reflex. “I'm a psychologist. I have a position at Arkham Asylum. I wanted to... I aimed to create something that would allow patients with severe trauma or mental illness to have a way of...” he sighs, “I wanted to avoid sedatives, some people spend their days lost in themselves. I wanted to break that....” Whatever else he wishes to say he doesn't. Instead, he starts going on about chemicals again, compounds and terms that he must know won't sink in.

He made the drug to make crazy people feel happy. Is my whole life ruled, ruined, by such an innocent thought?

I don't buy it, don't trust something about him. But that doesn't stop me coming back, accepting more. It's a few months of a new routine, sneaking some at 'home', coming here at least once a week. I find the time. Jonathan plays with his formula, he makes it better, more concise. Without realising, or caring, I become his guinea pig. The effects last longer, the come-down less painful. He shows me how to mix it with something else, a name with so many syllables I don't bother to learn it. Mix the two and you're having the best half an hour of your life.

I ruin all of it by speaking too much.

I spill.

It's unintentional, and far too late before I realise that Jack's finger is not the only one I am wrapped around. Jonathan has me too.  
___  
Fear can be divided into two stages, biochemical and emotional. The biochemical side of it is the one we all know, hear repeated on every nature documentary or shitty police drama. This is flight or fight. Do we run away from the threat or face it head on? A chemical trigger, that rushes through our bloodstream and releases about thirty others, prepping us to survive.

The emotional element of it all is personal. Whatever terrifies you most will differ from the next person. The effect on the body is the same, you still can't control it. But you can overcome it if you're brave enough. Or you can crumble, be fearful or fear itself. This was where Jonathon came in. Jonathon and those funny blue flowers.


	15. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor needs Batman

Two days and I had heard nothing from Bruce. Alfred would have passed on my rambled message, of course. That meant one of several things; Bruce wasn't going to get involved and Batman would stay dead, or, he was stuck trying to work out where we were and what exactly Crane was up to. There was a spectrum of in-betweens. I was stuck on the most painful Bruce was not coming. He had put Batman behind him, where the suit would stay. He was truly going to let the Gotham police force try and work this one out themselves. I feel one side of my mouth lift as my inner monologue turns sarcastic.

“What's funny?” a bark, Louis who is in a foul mood, half wasted. He didn't like this waiting around, not someone with such a twisted mind. He was bored, which led to drinking amongst deeper horrors. I'd seen them before. Her bloody face floats in my peripheral vision. I mumble 'nothing' and he scoffs, draws his attention away.

The TV here is mounted on the wall. On its left, about two foot away are the splatters of blood missed during the clean up. I'd been struggling to keep my eyes off them, but they linger, dry and weak upon the painted blue. There's more bleach in the kitchen, tucked in one the cabinets. When it's quieter, the guys in whatever bedroom they're using or outside smoking I would wipe it off.  
Jack has banished me from his claimed room and Wade is not here. Every move someone makes sends another jolt of adrenaline down my spine. They wouldn't try anything, surely not stupid enough too. Doesn't wipe that fear away, especially not with Louis present. He's on the other sofa thankfully, and Neck Tattoo keeps a respectable distance, a large cushion the wall between us.

I drift, thoughts wrap around and smother me. No Bruce, no Batman. That was fine, he was going to let Gotham die, slowly but with intent. Whatever Crane was planning had to be big, was always big.

His opposition was minimal, the regular forces of the city had proven themselves all but useless several times before. He might end up winning, Doctor Jonathan Crane. My stomach twists, forms itself into an unsolvable knot and tightens. My most recent pledge does not loosen it, saving Jack, stopping Jack. Both are intertwined in some way that I just need to find. Schemes surround us all and I need to be smart enough to form my own.

He would be better back in prison, it was where he belonged, there was no way around that. I hated the thought of him in a small dank cell, but the thought of him dead was worse. The hardest was his success. I was certain Jack would not want it. Not truly.

He should be in Blackgate. No, somewhere more secure, when he can get the help he needs. The help he needs, and would never accept. That is if the right help even exists, Jack is broken, in so many ways. You fix a mirror it doesn't get rid of the cracks. Liam had put on this documentary, months ago that had barely held my attention. It was some dull history affair, right up his alley. I remember one bit, a way that the Japanese used to repair things like teapots. They'd use this mixture, gold, and simply press the broken bit back into place. The crack became a decoration.

There was not enough gold in the world.

There was plenty of paper though, piles of cash haphazardly splashed around the room. Neck Tattoo seemed particularly enthralled with it. I imagine he'd never seen close to so much money in his life. The others less so, they knew enough of how the Joker worked to know money held no interest to him. Besides, they'd been speaking earlier, worried about marked notes and being traced. Not to here of course, but they could well leave a trail. This was yet another thing I stayed out of, my opinion was not asked. My thoughts once again meant little.

It didn't stop me having them, the whirlpool that sometimes crashed with clarity. Saving Jack. I rub across my eyelids, a headache forming. Dwelling is doing nothing but trapping me. The more I let myself sink back into this the harder it will be to break. I'd done it once, but I don't know if I'm actually, for all my talk, strong enough to do it again.

If I was going to leave the apartment now would be the time. Jack is locked away, and they would be hesitant to disturb him, allowing me perhaps a precious minute to get away. But, get away to where? To a phone, call the police, call Bruce. Alfred had been fraught, instantly desperate for news of my wellbeing. Did Bruce even feel the same? It wasn't like we had exactly been on good terms for the last year, since Jack had warped Harvey Dent and murdered Rachel. The pounding behind my eyes increases. I couldn't claim to know either of them well, but I'd met Rachel several times and to see Bruce afterwards. The damage done. It was unforgivable. So much of what Jack had done was utterly, utterly unforgivable.

And I'm here trying to work out how to save him.

I want out. Surprise is my best option. I'm wearing shoes so that isn't an issue and the door to the hallway is through the kitchen. The way the lounge is set up you can't see it. I stand, needing to act before logic sets in. No-one bats an eyelid when I head to the kitchen, and I only pause to shove a handful of notes into my jean pockets. I even manage to grab one of the guys' jackets from the kitchen stool. I test the door, it's locked which doesn't surprise me but I remember enough from my shitty childhood to get it open. There's a click, and I pause to see if there is any movement. After a few seconds of silence, I'm out and heading down the hall.

Nothing so far, and I've played this game long enough to know that breaking into a run will only attract unwanted attention. It's raining outside, which will work in my favour and I pull up the hood obscuring some of my face. I'm soaked to the bone without a couple of minutes and still trying to get my bearings.

We're somewhere Downtown, the area is nice and the further I go the bigger the townhouses become. These homes are six figures at the least, tall and narrow to make the most of the space. I check the money in my pocket, wait until a quieter spot and dip in an alleyway full of bins. I have seven hundred dollars in large bills. Smaller notes would be much easier, I do not look like someone who would naturally be carrying this amount of money right now and changing it will be a pain. A couple of blocks later I go into a cafe, ignore the glares from staff and go straight into the bathroom.

My hair is plastered down my cheeks and I pluck strands off, run my hands through it as best I can. There's little more I can do, I wipe away the mascara that was flaking and pinch my cheeks to add more colour. I look like I've been on a bender. I can't look like this much of a wreck if I want letting in where I need to go.

It's a Monday, I've managed to piece together that much from the newspapers propped outside shops. This is the only day of the week Bruce has to go to work, in some form at least. He has an agreement with his shareholders to hold a meeting with Lucius Fox and listen to their concerns or queries. He used to refer to it as his babysitting sessions. Alfred will be somewhere in the building. If I want Bruce that is where I need to go, I won't be able to get into the penthouse without any form of ID and my pockets are bare.

Wayne Enterprises is my best bet. I hadn't been there in nearly a year, little point when Bruce hardly went and the majority of my job had been done over the phone. It was a big change from starting on a reception desk and fluttering my eyes lashes at the infamous Mr Wayne as he walked past.  
Bruce was the target from the start. It had never been about the money even though with the return of Gotham's prodigal son the shares were apparently booming. At the time I'd known nothing about shares and stocks. Thankfully, with a fake ID, ridiculously overpriced shoes and a smile I'd done the impossible, snagged the reception job and surprised Jack in the process. That was nearly two years ago, a couple of years forward and a decade backwards. Bruce Wayne was Batman, the had seemed as obvious as the fact the sky was blue and it only snowed when it was cold. Jack wanted Batman watched, get an idea of the man behind the mask.

I don't think it had started off with the want to destroy him, taint the good in the city. I'll never know, but I had played my part to perfection. Bruce was my best bet, regardless of how many times I'd fucked him over and he had managed to somewhat forgive me he was all I had, all Gotham had.  
I get in a cab, but before we get to the business quarter I've realised my appearance will still cause me issues. The foyer of Wayne Enterprises is manned but open. Open to business people, not those who look like they've crawled out of a crack den. Unless I tidy up I'll be standing outside the building for god knows how long. Sometimes these meetings last all damn day and the clock on the dashboard only reads just past ten.

Fuck it. I get the cab to stop near a couple of high-end shops, offer him a ridiculous tip to wait for me and saunter in. I'd met enough spoiled little girls when Bruce was trying to convince himself he wasn't in love with Rachel Dawes, I can do the voice no issue. It only takes me fifteen minutes, I blab on about an important lunch, let the painted attendant pick me out a new outfit and tidy my face up with their make-up range. I'm down to my last couple of hundred when I leave but as soon as the cab pulls up and I see the familiar sign I shove it in his hand and saunter past the guarded doors like I belong.

I don't recognise the main receptionists, which mean they won't know me. That throws me a little, I was hoping to use them to get me upstairs. There are plush leather chairs lined up around several tables. I shrink, find a place and try to avoid looking suspicious although I'm glancing at every man that walks through the doors in case it is Jack. That's a foolish thought, he'd never be able to come to a place as high profile as this, he'd send Wade or Louis.

Unease eats at me, and as hours pass my nails warp into shredded stumps and my throat dries. It's nearly four when I finally spot someone I do know. Lucius Fox, muttering lowly to his assistant breezes past. A few other board member follow and finally it's Bruce. I don't move, my legs stick to the leather and turn to stone.

This is stupid, the cruel overpowering voice is in my head. Jack wants me, is the only constant I've ever had. Seems like he has forgiven me and you're throwing it away. Betraying him, fucking him over and for what? There is nothing to gain, and only him to lose. Poison bites and burrows it's way deeper as Bruce continues towards the main doors. He looks tired, fiddling with his cufflinks. I'd seen him do it a thousand times, a nervous tick. It's like me biting my nails or Jack letting his tongue run along the scars.

The scars you caused.

I lose my nerve. Sit still and watch Bruce exit through glass doors, a valet passing over his car keys. He's gone with a screech of tyres. I've made a decision, chest tight as every logical part of my brain screams at me that it is the wrong one. Too late now. I slip out of the building, walk several blocks paying little attention to where I am, no destination in mind. There's a patch of ground, a park where a bunch of school kids are mucking about on bikes. I collapse into it, tugging up my knees like they're a life jacket. What do I do now, what options do I have left? My mind scours through the last few days until it sticks on one moment.

Dr Harleen Quinzel. The woman who had helped them escape, helped Jack escape. The way Wade said her name. I have enough money to get a cab there.

Stupid decision Eleanor.


End file.
